𓄲 Namjoon remains silent beside you for a moment and if it hadn't been for where you were still interlocked, you wouldn't even have known he was there. "That doesn't sound like such a bad thing," he says as his thumb brushes over your knuckles.
전정국 x f!reader ˖ ࣪ ꉂ🗯˙ ‹— cw dilf!jungkook single dad jungkook nanny!reader 1980s au slowburn fluff angst (eventual) explicit content age gap (jungkook is 30, reader is 20) oc!cassian/oc!rayne (jk's children)
⧽ word count ⋮ 9.8k
average reading time ⋮ 55 minutes
── [ ✉️ ] This chapter is, woah. There are so many parallels, like I don't think I've ever crammed this many of them into one chapter so I hope you ladies will have a fun time finding them and interpreting them for yourselves, I have so much to say on this chapter specifically. More on Rayne especially toward the end, you'll see why! Oh and — I'm rocking everyone's boat with this one. Feedback in the comments/reblogs and asks are much appreciated <3
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chapter 27 — "Happy New Year"
You spend that entire evening hovering by your landline. Outside, the city bustles with life as cars roll up and down the streets, but inside your apartment it's quiet. Your back aches from being hunched over in the same position for hours but you don't move. Seven pm comes and goes, as do eight, nine and ten — all in the same, uneventful manner. At some point you doze off, slumped over the hard, wooden surface of your desk, with your head lolling against your arm as your eyes grow heavy.
The brief slumber is restless, filled with worries that you cannot fight off. You don't dream — if you did, you'd probably have nightmares.
It's the sound of the wind hurling against your window that jolts you awake a while later. Drool has dripped from the corner of your mouth, coating the back of your hand in a sheen, slick layer. With a grimace you straighten up and wipe the mess on your pants.
"Disgusting," you mutter under your breath when you remember why you had even ended up falling asleep in the first place. Your attention snaps toward your telephone but there was nothing — Jungkook hadn't called and you started to fear that he never would.
By midnight you drag yourself to bed, skipping the shower entirely and shoving the toothbrush around haphazardly in your mouth before calling it quits. The soft mattress provides relief for your sore muscles but it does nothing to soothe the thoughts inside your head.
You had been replaying the events of today as soon as you stepped through the front door. From your conversation with Jungkook in his study to the unexpected appearance of his ex-wife and his cold dismissal shortly after. The last thing you wanted was to push him further away and yet it seemed like everything you did was working you in that direction.
Sleep claims you twenty minutes later but it doesn't feel like resting. And when you open your eyes the next morning it's to a bright light that makes you immediately squint. Right. You'd forgotten to draw the curtains last night, even so, the sun didn't rise until eight — wait, what time was it?
Jolting upright in bed has the covers flying off your body and you turn toward the clock on your nightstand. Ten forty-five? Your feet hit the floor before your brain has time to catch up as you rush to the bathroom.
You've already brushed your teeth and pulled on a pair of jeans when you realize that there was no one waiting for you. Fingers hovering over the button, you exhale a deep breath. "How silly," you huff as you let your hands fall to your sides and slump back onto the edge of the mattress.
Though you know you shouldn't, you can't keep your thoughts from straying. How was Jungkook doing today? Rayne and Cassian? What were they up to? You wonder if they'd had breakfast yet — probably. Would he be taking them out to do something? Leave them at his parents' and head into work? What if Yelena showed up? Surely she knew their address, she could—
Your increasing worry is cut short by the shrilling sound of your landline going off in the living room and your back instantly straightens, like a solider at attention. Without stopping to consider who it might be, because your hopes were placed solely within one person, you burst through your bedroom door, skidding to a halt in front of the ringing telephone.
To your disappointment — and slight surprise — it is not Jungkook who's calling, but Namjoon. You had jotted his number down after you last conversation before Christmas not expecting much. To be honest you'd half forgotten about him, but could you really blame yourself? the last couple of days had been intense.
You pick up the handset and bring it to your ear as you try to compose yourself. "Hello?"
There's static for a moment, then his voice comes through on the transmitter. "Lovely lady, is that you?" You had thought the nickname to be some sort of joke the first couple of times he'd used it, but now you were starting to think otherwise — though you couldn't say you were complaining.
"You caught me," pulling your chair out, you plop down on it to get as comfortable as you could.
Namjoon makes an amused sound on the other end. "Am I calling at a bad time?" he then asks.
"No, not at all." Your response comes a little too fast and you hoped that your morning voice wasn't betraying you. Namjoon, for his part, appears to have been up and going for a good couple of hours by now. The ambience coming from wherever he might be, reminded you a lot of a busy office. If there was anything you had learned from Jungkook, it was that the corporate world never rested.
He hums, "That's a relief. I won't keep you long I can assure you." For some reason you wished he would, you could use the distraction. Namjoon picks up on your silence and quickly adds, "My boss is breathing down my neck about a deadline, time is sparse around the holidays."
You give a small 'Ah' in return, one of your fingers reaching up to coil around the phone cord. "Speaking of holidays," he then continues, "Say… And I know I'm cutting it close here, but you don't happen to be free for New Years?" You hear him shift in his seat, the sound of leather creaking echoes through the line. "My mother was wondering if you'd like to spend the evening with us, nothing big, just dinner and some wine. But I understand if you have plans already."
New Years? With Mabel and Namjoon? You'd been planning to ask Daehyun if there was any chance of you joining him and his buddies — though a quiet dinner did seem more like your crowd than barhopping anyway…
You twirl the cord around your finger as you pretend to mull over his request. "Well, I don't think I have anything planned…" Of course not, but he didn't have to know that. Glancing toward the empty calendar sitting on your desk only testifies your dull reality. But sounding desperate was the last thing you wanted. "I'm free."
Namjoon chuckles, his laughter warm against your ear even through the transmitter. "Awesome," he says, "I'll let my mother know then? She'll be overjoyed to see you again."
You nod before remembering that he couldn't actually see you. "Yes— I mean, do that," you blurt, clearing your throat into your fist awkwardly. He doesn't seem to pick up on it, thankfully. With your mind already racing you scribble down the address he gives you on a notepad.
"Alright," Namjoon's voice was the epitome of calm, though it held quiet anticipation. You could practically hear his smile, "I'll see you Friday then."
"Friday," you agree, fighting off a small grin of your own as you say your goodbyes and the call cuts. For the first time since arriving back from your parents' house you actually felt a spark of excitement — you were happy to spend time with Namjoon and his mother.
"This was a terrible idea! Why did I even agree?"
With your entire wardrobe in a heap on the floor, you stand in only your undergarments as you press the back of your hand to your forehead. Your search had been a long and desperate hour already and you hadn't found a single piece that was appropriate enough to wear to a dinner.
Most of your clothes were everyday-casual, jeans and simple knitted shirts or the occasional button up. And what little you owned that could be considered festive were all shamelessly cropped and or held insane cleavage — which wasn't something you were too eager on showing neither Namjoon nor Mabel.
"Sweetheart," Daehyun's unimpressed drawl catches your attention, "I think you're being dramatic." Very rich coming from him, you thought but held your tongue.
He was sprawled out on top of your bed, arms and legs laid out in a starfish position as his blonde hair splays over your pillow. You had begged him to come over that morning, in dire need of a second opinion because you could no longer trust your own. And Daehyun being the angel he was had showed up despite having plans at five. But as it turns out — he was of very little help.
"The mother wouldn't care if you showed up in rags," he says as he waves one hand dismissively. Then he suddenly pauses and tilts his face in your direction, one bright eye peeking out over your pillow. "Unless…" he sing-songs, "You're trying to impress a certain someone?"
Your face immediately heats up at the implication. "I most certainly am not!" Shaking your head, you begin a slow pace back and forth. Trying to look good for Namjoon? No, that wasn't it. But if those were the signals you were sending Daehyun — then what on earth would he be thinking?
This dinner suddenly seems like a horrible idea and you come to a halt mid-step. "Can't I just come with you and your friends?" you ask when turning to face Daehyun, still lounging on your bed, "I'll call and say I've got the flu or stomach bug or—"
"No way!"
Daehyun shoots up from the mattress with speed that didn't match his lazy posture only seconds ago. He's by your side in a second, hands on your elbows as he shakes his head fervently. "Sunshine, this is such an opportunity don't you see?" When your tense expression doesn't ease up he continues, "Come on, what kind of a man invites a practical stranger to spend New Years with him?"
You frown, "Uh… I don't know?"
He clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth, "A man that wants to fuck you, of course."
Wrenching yourself from his grip, you send him a sharp glare. "Ew! Don't say that, his mother is going to be there too."
Daehyun rolls his eyes, "She's just a decoy, besides, if he gets mommy's approval then that's all the better, no?" The teasing lilt to his voice doesn't go you unnoticed and it has the ends of your brows meeting as you grimace.
"Namjoon does not want to fuck me." You wanted to argue that he wasn't the man to try and pull off something so undignified — hell, you barely knew the guy. Not to mention that he was approaching his mid-thirties, working a well-paying job that was sure to hand him women both left and right. There was no reason for him to set his eye on you.
Oh but Daehyun reads you like a book, an infuriating quality of his. "Sweetheart have you seen yourself?" His hands come up to cradle your face, thumb swiping across your cheek like he was studying a rare artifact. "If I didn't swing the other way I'd have you in bed before you could even blink."
You scoff, "Thanks Dae, you really know how to charm a lady."
He grins, "'Course." Then he gives your cheek a gentle pat as he lets go again, "Anyway — see it as a rebound of sorts if nothing else."
You send him a dumbfounded look, "A rebound?"
Crouched before the pile of clothes on the floor, Daehyun hums as he rummages through the different tops you'd previously discarded. "Yeah. For Mr. Uptight and Pissy."
Oh right. You had confided in him about everything that had went down with Jungkook since the holidays — and your friend had listened with violent threats waiting on the tip of his tongue.
His comment still makes your nose scrunch. "He's not that uptight." Big fat lie. "And he's not pissy — he was just overwhelmed that's not his fault."
Daehyun pauses, fingers curling around the thin straps of one of your tank tops. He whips his head in your direction, an icy chill casting itself over his usually bright and energetic eyes. "Still don't give him the right to talk to you like that." It was rare for him to get all serious as he would often pass most things off as a joke. Not this time.
He rises to his feet with a roll of his shoulders. "Who does he think he is?" folding his arms across his chest, the corner of his mouth tugs downward, "And what was that you said about him dissing you after Christmas?"
You peer down at the floor, wiggling your toes slightly as you sigh. "I suppose you're right…" Even if you knew that Jungkook had been upset and that there was good reason for his response yesterday it didn't mean that it hurt less. Everything leading up to it was just the cherry on top.
"I'd have his head on a stick but you won't let me," Daehyun scoffs and you actually crack a smile at that.
"It'd be a shame to see you behind bars."
He taps his chin thoughtfully, "Hm. You'd just have to help me cover the crime then."
Your eyes widen and you bite back a small laugh. "Ridiculous," you say, "And either way, this wouldn't even count as a rebound. Me and Jungkook were never together."
Daehyun groans, loud and dramatic as he throws his head back. "What a buzzkill," he walks up to place a hand on your bare arm. "You're too caught up on the details. If I say it's a rebound then a rebound it is." With that he turns you toward the mirror, slipping back into the role of the stylist you remember calling earlier.
"Come on, let's get you dolled up."
Mabel lived on the fifth floor in an apartment on a quiet street, in a quiet neighborhood. Where the gardens were well maintained despite the season and a tall Christmas tree stood proudly in the patch of grass that connected the three large buildings. It was where you'd expect a sweet lady to reside.
The elevator ride feels a lot longer than it actually is. You spend the entirety of it going over your appearance in the small mirror, telling yourself that it was perfectly normal to be a little — very — nervous about this dinner.
Daehyun had picked out a light blue button up, said the color complimented you nicely. He'd also been adamant about undoing the three top buttons. It revealed only a sliver of collarbone, nowhere near enough to be scandalous. "We're going for chic and cool, not your high school's math competition," he'd pointedly stated when you tried to swat his hands away.
The adjustment therefore managed to show off the golden necklace Jungkook had gifted you for Christmas. Daehyun thought it added to the presentation and you didn't bother telling him who had gave it to you — if you did he would've probably torn it right off again.
You let the pad of your finger trace the pendant, clasping the jewelry gently. It was weightless in your palm — funny how such a small thing could hold so much significance. For some reason you keep going back to it, whether it be to adjust the heart to lay neatly in the center or to simply hold on to it. You didn't know why and thought it best not to ponder on it further.
Before you know it, the elevator gives a soft ding and the doors slide open to mark your arrival. With one final glance at your reflection you swat imaginary dust from the black dress pants you'd found at the bottom of your closet, then you step out into the hallway.
It doesn't take you long to find number 5002, even as your sneaker-clad feet drag slowly across the floor to prolong the moment ahead of you. By the time you reach your destination your blood is rushing in all different directions, your heart drumming erratically in your ears.
Your fingers hover above the doorbell as you hype yourself up to ring it. They weren't complete strangers — though you knew very little about the pair — and you try to tell yourself that it was the same, kind people you had run into on occasion. Finally you press the stupid button, pulling back as your nails dig into the tender skin of your palm.
There's shuffling on the other side, followed by that of a lock turning and a second later Namjoon appears on the other side, stealing your next breath with him.
Sure it had been a while since you last saw him — and that had been in a crowded, hot mall with screaming children and tired parents. Seeing him alone like this, without his coat and in a much more relaxed environment — it was different.
Suppose you never really had reflected much on how good looking Namjoon actually was. His hair is neatly combed down, the blond ends peeking out from behind his ears, save for the single strand that fell across his forehead.
He wears a button up similar to the ones you'd often see Jungkook in, though this one was a pale pink that suited him unfairly well. The sleeves are rolled up to his elbows and you guessed he'd been in the middle of something before you came knocking.
"Lovely lady," he greets with a small smile that has your stomach doing a somersault. "No trouble finding your way here I hope?" He inquires when taking a step aside to allow you room over the threshold.
You shake your head, "Not at all. Traffic was horrible though." Cars had been blocking the streets, frustrated drivers rolling down their windows to yell at one another in the cold winter air. Seeing as you had been promised wine however, you'd wisely chosen to take the bus and spared yourself of some road rage.
"Ah," Namjoon muses as he shuts the door behind you, "Everyone's out tonight."
Nodding, you pause to take in your new surroundings. The little hallway that welcomes you is best described as homely. There's a small dresser opposite the clothes- and shoe rack, on it sat a burning candle that flickered softly in the dim light. A carpet was rolled out under you, its design wasn't one you recognized either. It held intricate patterns and swivels that blended together rather beautifully.
You go to shrug off your heavy coat, only to feel a pair of large hands on your shoulders as Namjoon helps you out of it. "Let me," is all he says as he turns to hang it up for you, as though it was the most normal thing in the world.
"Oh—" you blink, managing a shy, "Thanks." He was surprisingly attentive and you couldn't help but be reminded of Jungkook who'd do the same… No, you'd made a promise on the way here to not think of him tonight, not when you had a pleasant dinner to look forward to. Though you were realizing that it was going to became a most difficult task.
After slipping out of your shoes and placing them neatly next to his, Namjoon begins leading you down the hall, stopping when he catches you eyeing the small angel figurines on the dresser. He comes to a smooth halt beside you, his arm brushing up against yours — reminding you of just how cramped the tiny space you both shared was.
"My mother likes to collect all kinds of trinkets," he explains as he peers down at the naked angels, gesturing toward them, "Says they bring her protection."
You lift a brow at that, the corner of your lip twitching slightly. "Protection? Like guardian angels?" The question is met by a small hum of his, making you turn back to study the figurines closer. "And what do you make of them?"
Namjoon huffs out a short breath, "That she's a lunatic." A moment's worth of consideration later, he adds, "But I suppose that if it makes her happy then there's no harm." He points to one of an angel sitting on a cloud, "I got her that one for Christmas. It's hard to find anything that she doesn't already have—"
He's interrupted mid-sentence by a familiar voice that could belong to no one other than Mabel herself. "Heavens me!" she exclaims before appearing around a corner, "Why didn't you tell me our guest had arrived?"
She hurries over to give Namjoon's arm a smack, to which the latter pretends to wince as he mutters a complaint under his breath. "I thought you heard the doorbell, mother," he says.
Mabel shakes her head, "My hearing is getting worse by the day — I'll be deaf by tomorrow for all I know with these fireworks going off!"
Namjoon sighs, "Always so dramatic."
His mother doesn't comment on the remark — well she might've not even heard it — her attention is solely on you now. "Oh dear, it's so good to see you!" You had expected a pat to your hand, maybe a half-hug, but Mabel pulled you into a full embrace with surprising strength for a woman of her size.
"I'm so glad you made it," she leans back to inspect you closely, "Was your journey here alright? All kinds of lunatics are out roaming the streets tonight."
"Mother—" Namjoon tries to interject but she's having none of it.
"And such a beautiful girl as yourself," she shakes her head, "But you're alright?"
You give her a sheepish nod, letting her hold onto your arms without complaint. It was sweet how she worried about you. It made you feel cared for, strangely enough. "Yes, thank you." Taking another glance around the hallway — which was now filled to its limits with the three people standing in it, you hum, "You have a lovely home."
"Oh," Mabel waves her hand but there was no mistaking the smile on her lips, "It gets me by."
It was then you suddenly remembered the little gift you'd packed into your bag before leaving. "I brought you this," you say when pulling the small box of chocolates out, "It's not much but I hope it's alright."
Mabel's eyes light up like a kid on Christmas, her brows shooting high as she peers up at you with confusion that quickly turns into gratitude. "Dear," she says, and you could've sworn she was blinking literal tears away, "You shouldn't have — you're our guest after all."
"Please," you insist, "It was the least I could do. Thank you for inviting me over tonight." You're pulled into another tight embrace before anyone even hears the end of your sentence, the box of chocolate squished somewhere along the way as Mabel pats your back, and without thinking you lift a hand to do the same.
When you finally find yourself at conversational distance again, she turns the box over in her hands with a smile. Mabel lowers her voice, "We ought to store this somewhere safe," she throws a pointed glance over your shoulder, "My son here has a sweet tooth like no one else."
Namjoon scoffs, "Mother, you had food in the oven last I checked."
The reminder seems to snap her out of the momentary daze as the old lady whirls around on the spot. "Oh my— the chicken!" she exclaims as she pads down the hall quickly, "Make yourself at home please my dear!"
Once left alone once more, you turn to Namjoon who heaves a sigh. "I'm sorry about her, she's a handful when she wants to be." He was rubbing a hand over his forehead, the loose strand of his hair slipping between his fingers for a moment and you find yourself tracking the simple motion.
"It's alright, I quite like it." You give him a small but genuine smile which he returns with one of his own.
As Mabel prepared dinner in the kitchen, Namjoon took it upon himself to take you on a tour of the apartment, and it was safe to say that the cramped foyer had only been a foretaste of what was to come.
The flat was larger than your own, you counted an extra bedroom and two bathrooms along with a spacious living room that worked as a dining one as well. And yet, the place seemed to shrink with the tremendous amount of stuff it held. Stuff was probably the best way to describe the different pieces of furniture you found all around. Large vases with swans on them, more angels that crowd each shelf and flat surface, bookshelves of all shapes and size — also stuffed with the same figurines.
To assume that Mabel was a hoarder would likely be very correct. Even so, there was no mess to be found. Each item — though there were a lot of them — all seemed to have their own designated spot.
"Your mother really likes angels, huh?" You hum as you stand by one of the oddly shaped bookshelves in the living room. The wood was smooth around the edges and bent almost like an 'S'. Inside were anything but books however. Each shelf was filled to the brim with porcelain angels of various degree.
Namjoon stands beside you, keeping a respectful distance now that the space allowed it. "Like you wouldn't believe," he says, "She's been collecting them since I can remember. It was always awkward explaining it to my friends whenever they came over."
"That's cute." Your attention wanders across the different angels, lingering a little longer on one with a bow and arrow. She was an earnest collector if nothing. The entire thing was probably worth a fortune — not that it seemed to matter to Mabel. Things like these weren't measured in their weight anyway.
"Is this you?"
Having spotted a picture frame off to the right, you nod in its direction. Namjoon follows your line of sight, letting out an awkward chuckle. "Yeah," he says as he picks it up to hold it closer, "That's me and my dad. It was taken back in 72' I believe. Jeez."
The photo held two teenage boys — one who looked to be a couple of years older — his brother your presumed, and a man that could only be their father. They were dressed in carpi-shorts and flannels as they posed on either side of a camel. "Egypt?" You ask, immediately recognizing the place you'd visited with your own parents.
Namjoon nods, "We went to Cairo for my father's fiftieth birthday. I even got to ride the camel."
You turn to him with a look of surprise, "No way?" But he only grins, not taking his eyes off the photograph he was cradling. There was a solemn glint in his otherwise warm eyes and you were just about to ask if something was the matter when he sighed.
"He passed the following winter," Namjoon says as his thumb strokes the frame slowly, "Cancer's a bitch."
The smile immediately falls from your lips and you swallow thickly, "I'm sorry…"
He shakes his head. "Don't be," Namjoon manages a faint but reassuring smile of his own, which felt wrong, he shouldn't be the one to comfort you over his own loss. Without missing a beat he continues, "We got one final trip together as a family, traveling was his passion, so there's comfort in that."
"It's strange," he muses when drawing in a long breath, "I've almost been alive longer without him than I ever was with."
You can only nod, your gaze staying with the photo. It was hard to imagine a life without your parents. Even considering the idea of them passing away and leaving you alone made your stomach clench. But Namjoon spoke of his father with so much warmth — it made you think that perhaps it would be okay after all.
He sets the picture frame back, hands dipping into the pockets of his dress pants. "It was hard on all of us but I think mother had it worst." You want to say something, though you're not sure what. Things never seemed to work out in your favor whenever you tried to be of help anyway.
Though Namjoon doesn't look sad. "She goes to dinner by herself for their anniversary even today," he says, still looking at the photo. "Visits his grave on Sundays," the corner of his mouth tugs upward, "And she wears her ring."
You blink the sudden tears away, wiping at them with edge of your sleeve quickly. "She really loves him," you croak.
"She does," he doesn't seem to have noticed that you were getting choked up, or maybe he simply didn't mind. "Sometimes I'm inclined to believe she loves him more than me and my brother."
His teeth pull at his bottom lip as his brows draw together, "But she's lonelier than she wants to admit." Lifting a one of his hands, he runs his fingers through his hair. "Me and Jin both moved out pretty early on. Living alone," he gestures toward the room you stand in, "It never really was her thing."
Glancing toward the sofa, then the coffee table and the lilac curtains that framed the windows, you came to understand that she probably didn't have a lot of people to share her warm home with.
Namjoon seems to read your thoughts for a moment later he sighs. "Me and my brother try to visit as often as we can." He trails off and you see him chewing on the inside of his cheek before letting it go again. "But Jin has a family now, things are different for him."
The two of you both glance toward the kitchen where Mabel was moving around, eagerly preparing a meal for you all. She was humming along to a song you didn't recognize and you realized that this dinner meant a great deal to her.
"I try to be around as much as I can," Namjoon murmurs as he exhales through his nose. Everything started to make sense, the laundromat, the shopping together… He really was the picture-perfect son. "She's really happy that you're here though," he adds, turning to give you a grateful look.
You're just about to tell him that you were honored for the invitation when Mabel's voice suddenly cuts through the weirdly emotional air. "Joonie dear!" What an endearing nickname, you thought. "Will you help set the table?"
Namjoon springs into action immediately, "Yes mom," he straightens up as he calls back to her. Excusing himself with a dramaticized bow he heads to the kitchen to help his mother like he so often did. You watch him go and once you're left with only yourself as company you turn back to the photograph of him and his father in Cairo.
What Mabel had prepared was nothing short of a feast and you wondered how the three of you were to possibly finish it all. There were a handful of homemade sauces, different kinds of grilled and marinated meat, both rice and potatoes, salads and of course the chicken which took the center.
"Don't be shy!" She had said as you eyed the dishes quietly. Then she'd gone on to pile a mountain of food onto your plate, stopping only when Namjoon placed a hand on her arm and told her that you would be rolling out the front door if she tried to feed you more.
A small part of you had admittedly been a little worried that dinner was going to end up being somewhat awkward. After all, you hardly knew the two of them — just as they hardly knew you. But that actually seemed to be working in everyone's favor.
Mabel goes on long tangents about the senior water-gym class that she attends on Wednesdays. Then she makes a few comments on the man living in the flat above her own, who was particularly loud whenever there was a football match broadcasting. She'd made several complaints to no avail.
"Last week I told him," she stabs her fork into a potato, waving it around like a weapon, "That if he didn't quiet down I'd send my boy on him — you see Joonie here is a black belt in karate, he'd be sure to teach him a lesson."
"Mother," Namjoon groans as he gently lowers her wafting hand, "I'm not fighting your neighbor with my knuckles out."
Mabel scoffs, her face twisting with contempt. "Well someone ought to! If I were twenty years younger…" She snorts when her son gives her a pointed look to which you conceal a laugh into your glass of wine.
"I'm being serious," she says with an exasperated huff, completely disregarding Namjoon's plea for her silence as she turns to you. "I used to take self defense lessons," she says, the potato back in the air as she gestures wildly with it, "I could throw a right hook sharp enough to know down a sumo fighter!"
You can't hide your grin as you try to imagine the sweet little lady sitting in front of you to do something like that. For some reason, you didn't find it all that hard to believe. "I'll make sure not to get on your bad side then," you say.
Mabel shakes her head, finally placing her fork down for good this time. "Oh no dear, I wouldn't dare. You've been nothing but kind to me." Then she leans forward, her voice dropping an octave like whatever matters she was about to discuss next were of confidential value. "Besides," she murmurs, "I only target men."
Namjoon actually chokes on his next sip of wine — causing both you and Mabel erupt into a fit of giggles. He scoffs under his breath when reaching for a napkin but doesn't object to the statement — which was wise given that his mother might've actually brought out her old skills had it come down to it.
Dinner goes by smoothly, the air is light and you find yourself slumping back comfortably in your seat as the two glasses of liquor begins to take subtle effect. You learn that Namjoon works for a high end marketing firm, often requiring him to leave for business trips overseas.
He spoke humbly about his profession — unlike Mabel who made sure to mention that he was recently promoted to team leader. She also pointed out that she wishes for him to settle down just like his brother and a have a family of his own, a matter Namjoon quickly brushed over by coughing into his fist. And though she never said it out loud, there was something hopeful in her eyes whenever she glanced between you and her son.
By dessert — which consisted of a large and frosted cake Mabel had baked — the topic shifted to you and your studies. "It's a lot of fun actually," you say when scooping up another bite on your spoon, "We have many hands-on lessons and in my third year I'll be doing clinical placements and get to work in real hospitals."
"Oh my," Mabel hums, she was showing vast interest in the medical field, much so that her own slice of cake had been forgotten. You wondered if it had anything to do with her husband's sudden passing, but made no comment of it.
"It's an important profession," she says, "Our doctors do so much for us." For a moment it looks as though she wants to say more, her expression temporarily shadowed by something dreary, though she manages to shake it off again as she sighs to herself.
"They do," you agree, hoping to fill the silence just as quickly as it had come. "I love to help people. It's my dream to be able to do that for a living."
Namjoon nod, wordlessly catching on. "And you're doing a fantastic job with it already, though I reckon medical procedures and pressing a button on a washing machine differ quite a bit," he finishes with a small wink.
Mabel perks up at that, blinking rapidly like she'd just remembered herself. "Oh yes indeed," she says, "It was so lovely of you to offer your help, I don't know what I would have done without it."
"You would've went and gave me a call I hope," her son huffs, though unable to betray the amusement that riddle his words.
His mother clicks her tongue against the roof of her mouth, "Eh, maybe I would have. But I must say this outcome was favorable." You return the smile she gives you, it felt even sweeter on your lips than the frosted cake did.
Namjoon leans forward a fraction, resting his elbows on the table — something that would've never been allowed back to the Jeon estate. "Is it difficult?" he wonders, "The stuff that they're teaching you, I mean?"
"Sometimes," you hum around your spoon, "But I'm very fascinated by all of it so studying is never a chore."
He nods thoughtfully, the ghost of a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Well just let me know if you need anyone to practice with." The playful proposal takes you right back to the afternoon on your couch just before Christmas, when you and Jungkook had done just that.
It wasn't the fact that Namjoon was mentioning it — not that you think he had anything like that in mind anyway — but the fact that your uncontrollable mind seems to connect every little thing to Jungkook. Despite your best efforts he kept worming his way back in where you didn't want him — and you had no idea how to make it stop.
After both dinner and dessert you'd helped Mabel clean up in the kitchen, despite her insisting that it was alright. "You're my guest for goodness sake!" She'd scold when you ran a dirty plate under the faucet, attempting to snatch it from your hands again — which you found rather endearing. It wasn't until Namjoon stepped in and told her to give it a rest that she'd allow you to assist begrudgingly.
Her kitchen was rather small — and just as cluttered as the rest of the house — making the three of you bump into one another from time to time as you giggled apologies back and forth.
By eleven Mabel announced that she was headed over to the lady next door to watch the fireworks from her balcony. "Go, go," she'd said when Namjoon tried to object, "I'm far too old to be out there anyway. Besides, Yin has prepared some rum for us!"
"Mother, you've already had two glasses of wine—" her son tried, but was quickly shot down by a prompt shake of her head.
"I might be too old to go out and bombard the sky with pops of color, but I'm never too old for a drink."
It had been your turn to tell Namjoon to drop the matter again and let his mother have some fun, it was New Years Eve after all, and such an occasion only came once every 365 days. He admitted defeat with a heavy sigh when he realized that he was outnumbered.
Mabel pulled you close and you shared one last hug where she made you promise to come again soon, and you happily agreed. Then she left in only her slippers to make the short trip over to Yin who was waiting with more liquor for them both.
You and Namjoon ventured out of the apartment complex twenty minutes later, ultimately leading to the two of you taking a walk under the night sky. The streets were littered with people who all seemed to share the same idea and the loud bangs followed you wherever you went — even so, yours and Namjoon's little bubble was quiet.
It wasn't an awkward silence by any means, nor the tense and loaded ones you had become so accustomed to after three months in Jungkook's house. This was nice, you thought as you rounded another corner.
The December chill was getting to you though and you rubbed your palms together in an attempt to create heat. "Cold?" Namjoon asks. He glances at you through the corner of his eye, catching your small nod and murmured 'yeah'. His steps doesn't falter when he reaches out to take both of your hands in his own, fingers lacing with yours. He moves in front of you, matching your pace as he now walks backwards instead.
"What are you doing?" Cocking him a brow, you automatically slow down a little.
But Namjoon simply shrugs, "I'm walking."
"Yeah, backwards."
"I suppose I am." he hums. Without bothering to turn his head and watch where he was going, he pulls you along as he continues down the street. "You'll let me know if I'm about to hit something, right? I trust you to be my eyes."
You snort, "You're ridiculous."
Namjoon grins, "I've been called worse."
It was quite the extreme length to go to simply to hold your hand but you couldn't deny that he was warm, his touch easily melting the cold away. The two of you somehow manage to navigate your way through the crowded city, giggling loudly whenever he stumbled or the time where you failed to warn him about a lamp post.
"Oh my god— I'm so sorry, are you okay?" You asked when he backed up right into the thing. Guilt struck your features and you immediately let go of his hand to check his head for injuries. "I don't think you're bleeding but there could still be internal damage, the skull isn't easily fractured so there's probably nothing to worry about there, but you might get a bump in the morning."
You pause only to find him watching you with a lopsided smile. "What?" huffing out a short breath, you frown, "I'm serious you could've been hurt and—"
He cuts you off mid sentence by gently grabbing your hand, lacing your fingers back together. "I'm fine," he assures you, "Really, I am." His eyes, warm and brown appear almost golden under the yellow glow of the light you stand under. "You know, you're really cute when you go all doctor mode."
His comment makes you blink twice, an unexpected heat crawling its way to your chilly face as you avert your gaze. "Shut up," you mutter, hoping he wouldn't catch the waver to your voice.
"I'm serious," Namjoon says as he picks up walking again, moving a little slower this time. You busy yourself with peering over his shoulder to watch out for potential threats — which was a welcome distraction. "I hope you don't mind me saying it," he then adds sheepishly.
"No- Not at all!" You quickly tell him, smiling when he gives your hands a squeeze. It wasn't the compliment on its own that had pulled the reaction from you — rather who it came from. The necklace sits a little heavier on your collarbone as you continue to make your way down the street.
With ten minutes to spare before midnight you finally come to a pause on a small bridge leading over the canal. A few other couples were scattered across it but you found a small spot by the railing.
"Got any New Years resolutions?" Namjoon asks. He's let go of one of your hands, but the other is still held securely in his own.
Pursing your lips, you peer out over the dark water. "I don't know… People don't usually stick to the ones they make anyway, do they?"
He huffs out a short breath, "No, not really." Then he turns to look at you and though you were still gazing out over the canal, you could feel his eyes as they settled on you. "But if you were to pretend?"
If you were to pretend? A few months ago you would've probably said something about school, something about your dream career that you were working so hard toward. Now you instead find yourself thinking about Jungkook, about Rayne and Cassian.
You think about what had happened only a few days ago. The last few words he had said to you before you left. You think about Yelena on the side of the road, about Cassian and Rayne sleeping together on her bed. The way you had berated yourself for what happened over and over — just like you did everything else.
"I guess…" Your free hand lands on the freezing railing, fingers curling around it softly. "I'd like to be kinder to myself next year."
Namjoon remains silent beside you for a moment and if it hadn't been for where you were still interlocked, you wouldn't even have known he was there. "That doesn't sound like such a bad thing," he says as his thumb brushes over your knuckles.
Your gaze flickers down to where his touch lingers — the gentle caress reminds you of Jungkook, the way he always touched you so carefully, well used to. When you lift your eyes again you find his already watching you quietly. "No, I don't suppose it does." You inhale a lungful of cold air, letting it fill you up before releasing it into the night.
"What about you?" you ask him, "Got any New Years resolutions?"
Namjoon shakes his head, "Not really. People usually don't stick to them, do they?" His echo of your previous words makes you roll your eyes and you reach up to give his arm a playful shove. He takes it with a breathless chuckle.
The next couple of minutes are spent in silence as you both stare out over the canal. Fireworks were shot high above you, their colorful explosions reflecting on the water's dark surface like a blurry mirror.
You find your thoughts back with Jungkook and his children — wondering what they were up to right now. Cassian was surely asleep by now but Rayne might still be up for the midnight stroke. Were they all spending it with Jungkook's parents? And if they did, had Mr. and Mrs. Jeon asked about you? What had he replied? Maybe he'd said nothing at all.
Part of you had thought that after spending the holidays together perhaps.. Oh whatever. It was stupid anyway. He had made it very clear that he did not want you around him and for once you couldn't find it in you to argue against it. In all honesty you were tired. Tired of always being left in the dark. Tired of constantly missstepping in front of him and having to pay the price for it.
"Hey—" Namjoon's voice parts through your thoughts like the sun piercings grey clouds on a dreary day. When you turn toward him you catch him already looking at you. How long had he been doing that? "Thirty seconds left," he says as he lifts your intertwined hands to show you the watch around his wrist.
"Only thirty—?" Your eyes widen, ten minutes had passed in the blink of an eye. Upon glancing around you find that the bridge was much more crowded than it had been only a little while ago. A couple just a few feet away were sharing quick pecks with each other, giggling as they talked quietly. A mother holds her daughter in her arms as they peer up at the starry sky together, you realize that a lot of people were doing the same.
"I heard they'll be shooting up a big one over the canal," Namjoon suddenly says as he points up with his free hand.
You frown, "Really? I haven't heard—"
Just then a loud chant starts up as everyone standing along the flowing water begins to count down from ten. "Just trust me," he urges as he tugs you closer, your arms now pressing together. Doing as he says you tilt your head back to gaze up into the dark abyss above.
"Six, five, four…"
The count down continues but you don't take your eyes off the spot which Namjoon had pointed to, stubbornly fixating on nothing in particular as you hope to catch the promised grand firework.
"Three, two, one!"
Explosions erupt all around you, illuminating the sky in bright colors. Reds, blues, purples and yellows — but no big surprise. You frown as you turn back to Namjoon, "I don't think—"
The sentence is left unfinished as he steals your next breath with a press of his lips against yours. Stunned into oblivion, you stand frozen for a long second before you realize what was happening, and when your brain finally catches up you kiss him back without question as you let your eyes fall shut.
His free hand finds its way to your waist, scorching hot despite the thick coat that separates you as Namjoon tugs you closer. The other remains tightly locked with your own, his thumb still brushing across your fingers absently.
Kissing him felt different — like a breath of fresh air. The way he moves against you reminds you a lot of Jungkook, only this was done with confidence, a sureness that gave away just how certain he was about this.
His tongue traces your bottom lip but doesn't push further, letting it remain only a gentle caress of lips. He tastes like the wine you'd been drinking at his mother's apartment — sweet and intoxicating — but moderate. Not like the strong whiskey you'd come to associate Jungkook with.
Somewhere to your right, a loud bang can be heard, followed by bright lights. He hadn't been lying about the grand firework after all. Even then, you didn't pay it any mind — too lost in the moment you shared with the man before you.
The kiss lasts for what feels like an eternity yet you're almost chasing after him when he pulls away, only managing to catch yourself last second as you think back to just how many glasses you've had tonight.
Namjoon doesn't go far though, his face hovers a mere inch from your own and his eyes sparkle under the colorful sky. The same lips that had just kissed you stretch into a smile, "Happy New Year," he says.
You bite back the giggle that threatens to escape you, opting for a grin yourself as you hum, "Happy new year."
But even where you stand — so far away from all the things that had been plaguing you for so long — you still thought about Jungkook.
The first two weeks of the new year pass in a blur. School opened back up and you returned to your studies, glad to be flooding your brain with source material on the nervous system rather than focusing on your own currently going havoc.
It had been eighteen days since you last saw or heard from Jungkook — fourteen since Namjoon kissed you on that bridge and ever since then the two of you had kept seeing each other. It wasn't anything serious, far from it. You told him that you weren't sure what you wanted, which wasn't a lie.
Namjoon listened without interrupting, offering his warm hand as he laced your fingers together. He apologized for kissing you so suddenly, to which you promptly shook your head and told him that you hadn't minded. And you really hadn't. The kiss was nice but you weren't so sure that it was anything beyond that.
So you decided to take it slow and go on "friendship-dates" as he liked to call them, arguing that labeling it a real one might put too much pressure on you. The friendship-dates were simple, grabbing dinner together and going on walks — you even went and saw a movie. He hadn't tried to kiss you again but he did hold your hand whenever he got the chance, you liked that.
Things with Namjoon felt safe, grounded. Whenever a certain question had been bothering you it was almost as though he could read your mind and answered it for you without being asked in the first place. You knew where you had him and he was honest with his growing interest in you just as much as he respected your hesitation.
The little dates you went on were the first bit of normalcy you had experienced in the last three months and it made you realize just how far away Jungkook had always been. With him it was all closed doors and averted gazes — but Namjoon felt like a warm and certain hug.
Thus you had also began job hunting. He hadn't fired you, not officially at least. But you needed the income and you had no intention of waiting for him to figure his life out in the meantime. Namjoon helped you as best he could, as it turns out, one has a lot of connections when working in his line of business. He'd secured you an interview at a local library not far from your university.
And that interview was… Today?
You could have sworn that you set your clock for nine — yet you find yourself peeling your eyes open at an alarming ten am. Bolting to your feet, you hurry over to your closet as you rip it open, only to remember that you'd actually had enough mind to prepare today's outfit the day before. Mentally thanking your past self, you pull on your pants with enough speed to cause the seams to loosen.
The interview was at one, so you still had adequate time in that sense. But the real reason you were rushing was because you'd planned to meet Namjoon for coffee at ten-thirty at a spot just outside his office — which was a twenty-five minute drive from your apartment.
You've just done the top button of your blouse up, already trying to piece together how you were to brush your teeth and wash the sleep from your face at the same time, when the telephone suddenly rang.
Really? Right now of all times?
With one sock on and the other halfway over your right foot, you stumble into the living room and over to the desk where the source of your interruption waits — only to freeze when the number displayed on screen registers. You had become so familiar with that exact sequence that you only needed to see the first three digits to know who it was.
Jungkook hadn't reached out in nearly three weeks and he chose now? You scoff as you eye the handset with mild irritation, having half a mind to just ignore him entirely. It would serve him right. So you turn away, already heading for the bathroom when you find yourself stopping. Try as you might but you cannot get your feet to move even an inch forward.
"Ignore it," you murmur as you close your eyes, "Just ignore it."
But the telephone won't stop ringing, the sound blaring through your apartment. Another ten seconds pass until you finally spin on your heel, marching up and yanking the handset to your ear.
Silence.
Alright so he could call but he couldn't speak? Real mature.
"Hello?" You try to keep your tone leveled, your pride preventing you from lashing out on him even though that was the only thing you wanted to do. But it is not Jungkook who answers to your passive aggressive greeting.
"Nanny…?"
Your heart drops to your stomach at the sound of the familiar voice — a voice you could recognize even in a storm. Exhaling a quiet breath as all of your previous anger washes off, you grip the device a little tighter. "Rayne? How did you get my number?"
There's a small pause where you hear nothing, then she speaks again, "I found it in father's study." A short response, which wasn't unusual when it came to Rayne but the way she says it is. She doesn't sound like herself, her sharp edge had been dulled into something hesitant and unsure.
"Okay," you hum, "Where is your dad?"
Static fills the still air of your flat and you listen intently for anything that might give you even the tiniest clue of what was going on. Her soft breaths come through on the line, she most be holding the transmitter right against her lips, you think.
"In his room…" Her voice wavers and you can pick up on shuffling somewhere in the distance, Cassian. He murmurs something to his sister, inaudible over the phone which meant he must be speaking very quietly — which was rare for the young boy.
A second later Rayne returns, "Um…"
She trails off and you frown, "Is something wrong?" You try to keep your voice calm even with the growing pit in your stomach. Only when you feel a sharp sting do you realize that you'd been digging your nail into the pad of your thumb — you don't loosen your grip.
"Nanny?" She repeats and your heart clenches hard in your chest at how small she sounds.
"Yes?" You breathlessly ask, prompting her to continue as you gnaw anxiously on your bottom lip.
Rayne was always quick-witted with her answers, never missing a beat as she throws out retorts. But right now she's taking awfully long to get her words out. Finally she gives a shaky exhale.
"Can you come…?"
You don't think you'd ever heard her cry — but this might've been the closest thing to it, and it makes your own eyes sting. "Of course, sweetie," you hoarsely say, already peering down the hall where your shoes and coat wait, "I'll be right there."
The relief is palpable in the way she sighs, like all air had just been pulled from her lungs. You pause, "Can you go get your dad while you wait?"
This time her reply is almost instant, "No."
She doesn't give you more than that but it was enough for your mind to go into overdrive with all kinds of scenarios.
"Cassian is scared," she murmurs before adding in a quiet whisper, "I don't know what to do…"
The rawness in her voice makes a lump form in your throat and you have to force yourself to keep it together in front of her, "Give him a hug and go wait for me in the living room."
Rayne hums quietly, "Okay."
"I won't be long," you tell her to which she only repeats her previous response.
When the line cuts you rush to leave a message for Namjoon where you hastily explain that something came up — it would have to do. All thoughts of coffee and your upcoming interview vanish as you snatch the car keys in one hand, not bothering to lace up your shoes and grabbing your coat on the go. If you'd been in a rush before then this was taking it to the next step.
And though you were still upset with Jungkook — your heart hadn't been able to handle the way Rayne had sounded over the phone. Her voice still echoes in your ears as you get to your car — stepping on the gas as you head for the Jeon house.
── [ ✉️ ] I'm developing an extreme kink for cliffhangers. Okay but let's talk about Rayne because I'm too eager to wait for the comments and asks (whatever sue me). The last scene was so important for her character, I cannot stress this enough. I'd like for it to mark a turning point of sorts. Seeing as Rayne has always been very wary and closed off toward OC, her calling her like this, reaching out because she doesn't know who else to turn to, and because OC is the only one she feels safe enough to confide in? Hello. We actually have had such a major break through. I'll probably go into more detail on this when I answer comments and asks but I just had to say this. Oh and for all the team Namjoons under the last post, this one is for you.
𓄲 "Ah," she hums, "That's good." Her fingers untangle, coming to rest flat across her knees as she straightens up against the sofa. There's a calculating look in her eyes now, a new sharpness that slices through the dull brown. "How do you know my ex-husband?"
전정국 x f!reader ˖ ࣪ ꉂ🗯˙ ‹— cw dilf!jungkook single dad jungkook nanny!reader 1980s au slowburn fluff angst (eventual) explicit content age gap (jungkook is 30, reader is 20) oc!cassian/oc!rayne (jk's children) implied substance abuse withdrawal arguing
⧽ word count ⋮ 7.2k
average reading time ⋮ 40 minutes
── [ ✉️ ] This chapter is noticeably shorter than the last, but you already know that 25 was a one-time-thing when it came to chapter length. You might think "well why not add more?" no no, this one contains exactly what it needs. I feel like, for the events that come after the ones here, we need a chapter break. So with that said, this one is basically just emotions, big sad, big angry, and all over the place. Everyone's' confused and hurt and that's okay. Feedback in the comments/reblogs and asks are much appreciated <3
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chapter 26 — "Moby Dick"
"I'm here to see my children."
The air inside the hallway crackles and it had nothing to do with the cold winter air. One hand on the doorframe, your other fiddles with the keys as you survey the woman in front of you. It would be a lie to say that you hadn't imagined what the children's mother might look like — the woman who held Jungkook's affections for so long.
This was not what you had expected. Her frazzled appearance, the nervous edge to her every breath as her eyes continued to dart toward the driveway, almost like she was expecting someone to turn up. Her arms tighten across her torso and her attention flickers back to you, "Can I come in?"
You could tell that she was anxious to get inside and your heart aches when you thought of how cold she must be where she stands. But your concern is not loud enough to quiet the underlying suspicion that settles in your stomach. Something was wrong. How could you trust that she is who she claims to be? Was letting a stranger inside a house that wasn't even yours such a good idea?
Another minute passes and the woman on the front porch grows increasingly agitated with each second, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. Empathy wins out in the end and you give her a reluctant nod as you step aside, "Sure. Come in."
She doesn't hesitate when granted permission — hurrying past you without as much as thanking you. Luckily she ventures no further than the dresser, studying the tidy space as though she was seeing it for the first time.
The front door shuts behind you once more and you turn to her with an awkward but friendly smiles. "You can put your shoes right here," you gesture toward the shoe rack.
"Oh," the woman blinks, like she had just remembered the ragged sneakers on her feet. She pulls them off with trembling hands, setting them alongside your own newly bought ones. When she straightens up she immediately loops back to what she had come here for. "Where are the children?" she turns to glance over her shoulder, "Upstairs?"
Your heart beats rapidly against your ribcage, blood rushing to the tips of your fingers as you swallow. Shit. You had completely forgotten about Cassian and Rayne who'd gone to retrieve his beloved Frank. The sound of their footsteps were now echoing down the hall above you, undoubtedly headed back to the bottom floor.
"How about…" your hand finds her elbow, and the woman jumps slightly, "You wait in the living room and I bring them?"
She frowns at that, lips parting with an objection she never voices out loud. Then she turns and heads down the hall toward the living room — clearly familiar with the layout of the house, which only further unsettled you.
The moment she's out of sight you jolt into action, moving for the staircase as fast as your legs would carry you. Climbing two steps at the tine, you haul yourself up only to be stopped halfway as you nearly go crashing into both children, who'd been descending the stairs.
Cassian was now hugging his beloved dinosaur plushie, their coats buttoned up and ready to go. He makes a confused face when you appear in front of them. His sister stands just in front of him, her gaze dragging across your frame with a raised brow. "Was there someone at the door?" she asks, undoubtedly having heard the voices coming from downstairs just moments ago.
You hesitate, teeth shredding the inside of your cheek as you think of a plausible explanation. "It was… The postman!" humming softly, "Yeah. He needs a package to be signed, it shouldn't take long."
Rayne looks far from convinced, her dark eyes flickering to a spot over your shoulder before returning to you. Though before she gets the chance to interrogate you on the matter, you place a firm hand on her arm. "I need you to take your brother upstairs and wait inside your room. Can you do that?"
She doesn't answer to that right away, sending Cassian a quick look before letting her brows furrow deeply. "But it's just the postman—"
"Do as I say." You cut her off, something you would've never done under different circumstances, and Rayne catches on quickly as the crease on her forehead grows all the more prominent. "Go to your bedroom, close the door and don't come out until I get you, understood?"
Cassian makes a small disgruntled noise behind his sister but nods in her place, already tugging on her coat sleeve. The latter holds her ground for another ten seconds before letting out a sigh as her shoulders slump. "Okay," she says, turning to lead her brother up the stairs without looking back.
You watch them take their leave, exhaling the breath that had been trapped within your lungs for the past minute. When heading back downstairs, you do so with a racing heart, approaching the living room as quietly as possible.
The woman was seated on one of the sofas, her restless hands placed on her lap as she takes in the area silently. You clear your throat, making her twitch in her seat as her head snaps in your direction. "Are they—?"
"They'll be a minute," you tell her, flashing her the most convincing smile you could muster. She seems to be put at ease by your reassurance, relaxing against the couch ever so slightly with a tilt of her chin.
She was their mother that much was clear. If not for her eyes that resembled so much of Rayne's, then be it the, now slightly matted, curls her son inherited. Part of you feels guilty for keeping her from her own children — the other doesn't trust her to see them.
Jungkook had made little notion of her during the three months in which you had been working under his roof. But when he, or the children, did, it was always followed by unspoken tension. You did not know what had happened between them, whatever it was, it had left permanent scars.
"I never asked your name."
The woman's sudden question pulls you from your thoughts and you blink. Something about her makes your throat dry up and you barely get the introduction past your lips as you shift by the doorway.
She doesn't seem to notice the waver to your voice, simply humming to herself. "I'm Yelena." No handshake follows, she doesn't seem to keen on initiating one and neither are you.
Yelena.
It feels strange to put a name to the woman you had only been hearing about in short, sporadic bursts. A beautiful name it was. And though she looked… rough, you still imagined her to be a gorgeous woman underneath the eye bags and sickly pale skin.
Jungkook crosses your mind for the first time since her arrival, his absence had been loud after your last conversation but now it was blaring. You glance down the hall, then back to Yelena who hadn't said another word. "Can I uh, get you anything to drink?"
She turns her attention back to you, it seemed to be straying a lot. "Water," is all she says, not bothering with any pleasantries as she goes back to studying her cuticles.
You nod, quickly spinning on your heel as you head for the hallway again. Time was sparse and though you hardly believed her to be counting down the seconds, you knew that taking too long would raise suspicion.
The telephone sitting on the dresser becomes your salvation and you pick it up without hesitation. Next to it sits the sticky note Jungkook had left all those weeks ago, in case you ever needed to get in contact with him whilst watching the kids. You had never called to his office, you'd never needed to.
And yet here you are, frantically typing in the number with trembling fingers. You bring the phone to your ear as you wait, chewing on the blunt edge of your nail to ease your nerves.
There's nothing but static to fill the oppressive silence around you and for a long while you think he might not pick up at all. Could you blame him? But then the call connects and you breathe out a sigh of relief as Jungkook's voice comes through on the line. "Hello," his tone is flat, devoid of any emotion at first, but when you don't respond it grows concerned, "Are the children alright?"
Your heart twists in your chest and you throw a glance at the stairs, nodding as though he could see you. "Yeah. For now at least," you murmur, pressing the handset a little closer to your ear as you speak directly into the transmitter, "You need to come back."
Jungkook sighs, "What?" And you could perfectly picture his brows drawing together across his forehead.
Sucking in a quiet breath, you dare a peek toward the archway which you had just emerged from, lowering your voice into a whisper, "There's a woman here. She says that she's here to see her children…" You gnaw on your bottom lip, worried that she might come looking for you — or worse, the kids — if you didn't hurry up. "Her name's Yelena."
The line goes silent.
You listen for Jungkook, catching only that of his steady breaths, they sound mechanical, like he was forcing each one past his lungs. "Jungkook, did you hear—"
"Did you let her inside?" His voice is cold now, much colder than it had been even during your last conversation — it makes a shill crawl down your spine. "Answer me!" He sounds upset when he repeats himself only a second later, "Did you let her inside the house?" There was a frantic edge to him, and in the background you heard the sound of a briefcase snapping shut.
You grip the telephone a little tighter as you brace yourself. "Yes," it felt like confessing to a crime, "She's in the living room…"
"Where are the children?" he asks.
"Upstairs," you're quick to respond, "They don't know she's here. I told them to wait for me."
Jungkook exhales on the other end of the line, but he did not sound relieved, "Good. I'm on my way."
"Okay," you say, adding in a quiet, "Please hurry," before he gets the chance to end the call. He pauses at that — perhaps the waver to your voice or the way it had cracked on the last syllable gave you away.
"I will."
The static returns and you're left all alone in the far too big hallway. You stare down at the phone in your hand, clinging onto it even though Jungkook was already gone. Then you remember that Yelena was still waiting for you, and if she hadn't mulled over your absence yet — she was bound to any minute now.
You return to the living room shortly, this time with a glass of water in hand, only to find the couch where you had left her to be empty. Your pulse jumps in your throat, dread washing over you until you spot her by the fireplace.
Yelena's fingers were tracing the edge of the mantel clock slowly. "This one is new," she hums, more to herself than anyone else. Her gaze darts across the room and over to the coffee table when you set the glass down, then it continues across the walls behind and around you. "Tapestry is the same."
She would go on like that for another two minutes, counting each change in the room under her breath. "Not the same pillows, old carpet, brown bookshelves…" Her feet barely make a sound as she pads around the sofa you sit on, and you avoid looking her way as you instead watch your own hands.
You weren't scared — nervous maybe. She appears harmless but her presence still unsettles you deeply. And Jungkook's reaction certainly hadn't helped. You could only hope he was keeping his word and stepping on the gas to get here.
The couch in front of you creaks and your attention pivots over to her as she sits down on the cushions opposite you. Even whilst seated, she was moving. Her leg bouncing restlessly, fingers picking at the sleeves of her fleece as her eyes dart around the space despite having examined it closely just now.
It was impossible not to notice the signs in front of you. The way she kept wetting her lips, reaching for the glass to chug half of it before setting it down again. Her consistent shifting, how she keeps adjusting herself like she couldn't find a comfortable position.
The fact that she was in some sort of withdrawal was clear — and that made you sweat.
"Where's Jungkook?" she suddenly asks, her gaze fixating on you for once.
That was the first time she'd mentioned him, and judging by the way she kept biting her tongue, she was anxious to hear your response.
"He's at work," you tell her, leaving out the fact that he was currently racing home. You're glad that you did, for Yelena instantly relaxes a fraction, her shoulders slumping as she nods.
"Ah," she hums, "That's good." Her fingers untangle, coming to rest flat across her knees as she straightens up against the sofa. There's a calculating look in her eyes now, a new sharpness that slices through the dull brown. "How do you know my ex-husband?"
Your blood runs colder than the air outside and you hope she doesn't notice the way you struggle to take down your next swallow. Never had you wished so intently for Jungkook to just step through the door and spare you of the conversation about to unfold.
"I uhm—" scratching the back of your neck, you send her a sheepish smile, "I'm the kids' nanny."
Yelena's brows rise on her forehead, the corner of her lips tugging into a frown that she does little to hide. "A nanny?" She gives you a long once-over, "We've never had a nanny before…"
You didn't linger on her statement, too caught up in trying to figure out why she was here now. What had compelled her to return after so long? According to Jungkook over a year had passed — so why now?
But Yelena does not give you time to ponder the matter for long. She's already rising from her seat, brushing her pants with jerky movements as she turns her head in the direction of the archway behind you. "The children are taking long," she says, "Perhaps I should go check on them."
Without waiting to hear your opinion, she steps forward, intent on heading upstairs herself to see what was prolonging their arrival. You shoot up from the couch, putting yourself in front of her as you exhale a shaky breath. "They'll be down in a minute," you assure her, placing a warm hand on her shoulder. She was freezing cold.
Yelena jerks back at the touch, surprise striking her features before it morphs into something almost offended. "I'd like to see my kids," she huffs, trying to move around you toward the stairs.
You match her stride, blocking her path once more as you give a strained shake of your head. "Let's just sit back—"
Down the hall, a lock twists, the front door opening a second later. Jungkook was back. Never had you thought you'd be so relieved to hear that sound, especially not given your last talk in his study. Yelena seems to register the newcomer as well, her already pale face draining its last bit of color.
She sends you a quick accusing glance but the footsteps were already moving down the hall quickly. Jungkook appears in the doorway just then, his dark hair is a mess, strands falling down to meet his brows, which were pulled together deep enough to form one. He pauses when he sees you, eyes landing on your hand resting over her shoulder.
Yelena is pulled from her trance and she takes a few steps back, leaving your fingers to hover in the air uselessly before they drop to your side. Jungkook pays her little mind, crossing the distance between you in three long strides. His hand brushes your elbow, the touch far too tender for this moment.
"Are you okay?" he murmurs, loud enough for only you to hear.
Nodding, you remain silent, not trusting yourself to speak — or take your attention off of his ex-wife who'd gone back to picking at her fleece. Jungkook's gaze stays with you, searching your face and body for any signs of deceit. He exhales, nostrils flaring slightly as he releases you.
"Go to the children," he instructs and when he reads the hesitation on you, he adds, "Now."
You did not dare argue with him and without another word you head in the direction he'd just came from, slipping around the corner and savoring a long breath once you're finally out of sight.
The stairs are right in front of you, Cassian and Rayne waiting just beyond them. You push off the wall you'd been leaning against, taking a step forward when suddenly, Jungkook's voice can be heard from the living room.
"What are you doing here?"
His tone is demanding just as it is void of any warmth. But it is the underlying tremor that he cannot hide, that makes you pause. You stand frozen in the middle of the hallway, fingers stretched for the banister but your feet still planted to the carpet. There you find yourself torn between going up to be with the children like you'd been instructed, or to stay where you were, just in case thing escalated.
"I'm here to see my kids," Yelena follows his question up a moment later, but even she sounds doubtful of her own words.
There's a sharp scoff — from who? you can't tell, but if you would have to guess, then Jungkook. "You have some audacity to call them yours," he snaps back almost instantly and it is then you make up your mind.
Abandoning the stairs, you creep back to toward the archway, resting yourself against the wall as you let your head tip against it. Your palms are flat on top of the tapestry and you shift just enough to steal a peek around the doorframe.
Jungkook stands with his back to you. His shoulders are tense, fingers twitching restlessly by his sides — the way you so rarely saw them do. He hasn't moved since your exit but Yelena has. She was back by the fireplace, caressing the mantel nervously as she avoids his gaze with a held tongue.
"Don't lie to me," he bitterly adds. The floorboards creak under his weight when he takes a step forward, only to stop himself halfway of reaching for her, regretting the decision again. Though you could not see his facial expression, it wasn't hard to guess that it carried pain. "Over a year," his voice cracks just slightly, "It's been over a year and you haven't even—"
He cuts himself short, abruptly turning and you quickly duck behind the wall once more, listening to the sound of his pacing. When you finally dare to glance around the corner, he was standing by the window, this time with one shoulder facing you. The tension in his jaw becomes clear now, it doesn't lessen when he rubs a hand over it.
"You can't just show up here, especially not when I'm at work, you—" he inhales sharply, realization flickering past his eyes, "You weren't even going to tell me you were here, were you?" He sounds disbelieving of himself even as he confirms it, but he's not bothering to hear her out.
Yelena doesn't deny it either, simply watching the path her hand takes across the mantel. You understood then that she had chosen a time frame in which Jungkook would be out of the house. Her showing up at the front porch was no coincidence but a planned move. It makes your stomach twist.
"I wanted to see my children," she continues to push her narrative and her gaze moves up to meet his for the first time since her arrival. "But I knew you wouldn't let me." There wasn't an ounce of guilt within her eyes, as though she'd been perfectly content to do something like this without his knowing.
Jungkook chokes on a strained laugh that's anything but amused. He rubs both palms over his face roughly, nails digging into his forehead as he breathes deeply. "The children?" he echoes between his fingers, "You really think I'll believe that?" His hands return to his sides and he takes a step back, hip bumping against the window sill, though he hardly seems to register it.
"You," he points in her direction, "Have had all the time in the world to see them but you—" His lips press into a firm line, silencing whatever he might say next.
Yelena makes a grimace, somewhere between hurt and offended. But she says nothing and Jungkook's irritation only mounts. "Why are you really here?" He asks, studying the worn clothes that hang off her lanky frame, the hollow of her cheeks, surely noticing the eye bags just like you had.
"It's been a rough couple of months," she admits in a hoarse whisper, her face morphing into something pitiful, "I just need a little. Just to get me back on my feet."
Jungkook's brows shoot high on his forehead, an exasperated scoff passing his lips. "That's what this is about? Money?" His jaw clenches, "You didn't get enough last time — so what? now you're back for more?" He shakes his head, "Not a chance."
His blunt refusal only makes Yelena double down as she stumbles forward, causing the former to jerk back. "Please. I promise I'll use them for good," she smiles, a weak and strained smile, "I'm all better now." The lie feels mocking and it slaps even you across the face, you're sure Jungkook feels the same as he regards his ex-wife.
There's an intimidating scowl plastered across his face, but his hands were trembling by his sides as she approached.
Your fingers have curled so tight around the doorframe that the splinters were bound to snap under the force, you barely notice it, far too occupied with watching the scene play out in front of you. You follow their every move and your heart pounds loudly in your chest — though not loud enough to mask the creak of wood behind you.
Whirling around where you stand, you spot Cassian on the bottom step of the stairs. He's clutching Frank in one arm as he, too, listens to the voices coming from the living room. "Nanny?" he croaks, wide and uncertain eyes darting between the entryway and you.
Quickly straightening up, you rush over to gently grab him by his shoulders. "What are you doing down here, sweetie?" you whisper, reaching down to take one of his hands in your own, "I thought I told you to stay with your sister."
The young boy slowly nods. "I'm sorry," he mumbles, "I was thirsty… Rayne told me not to go." He hesitates, blinking once when the sound of Jungkook's voice comes barreling through the thick air:
"You're insane to think that I'd give you anything!"
Cassian turns toward the living room, his brows furrowing over his forehead. "Daddy's home?" He looks as though he wants to go to him, to hug his father even though he left less than an hour ago. You stop him, already climbing the stairs he'd just come from as you tug him along.
"Let's go and wait in your sister's room for a bit." You don't look back, only slowing down enough to make sure that he was keeping up.
He does so, albeit reluctantly, "But my water…"
You were thankful that it was his biggest concern at the moment, and you give him a small smile. "I'll go and get you some soon," you promise him.
The door to Rayne's bedroom had been left ajar and you nudge it open with the help of your shoulder as you pull her little brother inside with you. "Alright, why don't you take a seat right here?" You guide him down onto the edge of her bed, adjusting the dinosaur plushies in his lap.
Cassian lets you arrange him without complaint, neither him nor his sister question your hurried, slightly unsteady hands when you walk up to close the door firmly.
Rayne was sat by her desk, her coat hung up on the back of her chair and an open book laid in front of her — though its pages seemed to be forgotten. Their shoes were placed neatly by the foot of the bed, Cassian's outdoor wear draped over the wooden post.
The air in here was a lot warmer than that of the living room, but even that temporary comfort was quickly shun by the sound of Jungkook and Yelena downstairs. Their conversation had clearly escalated into a full blown argument, loud enough to where you could slowly start to make out what was being shouted.
Cassian stiffens when the voice of a woman registers — and not just any woman. His gaze meets Rayne's, searching for answers which his big sister refuse to give. "Who is daddy talking to?" he wonders, but receives no response from the older. She only turns back to her book, pretending like nothing was wrong.
You bite your lip, scrambling for something to distract them both with as the discussion between their parents unfold in the distance. "I know!" Clasping your hands together, you manage to draw the young boy's attention, "Why don't we read something all of us together?"
Without waiting to hear his answer, you walk over to the crammed bookshelf opposite the bed. No one responds, though Cassian shifts slightly where he sits as he fiddles with his plushie. Another sharp remark from Yelena downstairs makes you bite back a wince and you pull the first title you find from the shelf.
"Alright, scoot over." You nudge Cassian gently and he obliges when crawling back to rest his back against the headboard. Frank is still pressed against his chest and he clings to the dino when you settle beside him. "Rayne, come here," you pat the spot to your right, giving her an expectant smile which she returns with a displeased frown.
Any other day you think she might've outright refused, but she was not oblivious to what was going on downstairs and when their voices only grow louder, she finally hops off her chair and walks over.
The small children's bed was hardly made for three, but you made do as you cozied up together, Cassian nuzzling into your side as his sister sat stiffly. Their bodies are warm against your own and you take a moment to savor the comforting feeling as you open the first page.
"Which book is this?" Cassian asks against your shoulder.
"Moby Dick," you tell him.
"Does it have pictures?"
"Not this version, no…"
He scrunches his nose at that, "I don't like it then."
"That's because you're dumb," Rayne retorts as she adjusts herself slightly. Her brother shoots upright at that, his features twisted into offense.
"Am not!"
"Are too," she hums when tilting her chin up.
"Hey," you slam the book shut with more force than necessary, raising a brow as you glance between them. "Do we want to hear this story or not?"
Cassian nods, looking chastised as he presses his cheek against your arm. Rayne only sighs, but makes no further remark on the matter. Downstairs, the argument continues and you try to drown out the noise as you begin to read:
"…I thought I would sail about a little and see the watery part of the world."
You had barely gotten through the first paragraph when Cassian suddenly speaks up, "Why does he want to sail?"
Reaching a hand up to stroke his curly hair back, you smile. "You'll find out when we keep going." To which he nods and sinks back against you with a quiet 'okay'.
Not even a full minute later, he interrupts again. "I don't understand," he whine after you had read: "This is my substitute for pistol and ball. With a philosophical flourish Cato throws himself upon his sword; I quietly take to the ship." Cassian had little patience for the much slower pace compared to his picture-books and was squirming on the spot, "And who is Cato?"
"You wouldn't know him," Rayne says as she tucks her ponytail over her shoulder, causing her brother to pout.
Shaking your head, you wrap an arm around the small boy in an attempt to still him. "It means," you hum when pointing to the page, "That he goes to the ocean whenever he feels sad, that way he doesn't do bad stuff."
Cassian mulls over this new revelation for a bit. "More people should go to the ocean then," he finally says.
You nod, "Yeah. They should."
The children did settle down after a few pages, the younger's insistent questions eventually stop and soon enough he was dead weight against your arm — deeply asleep. Rayne sits quietly beside you, and when the chapter comes to an end she doesn't question why you stop reading.
Downstairs, the sound of Jungkook and Yelena's arguing have ebbed out into silence — a silence that is soon followed by the slamming of a front door. It shakes the entire house and for a second you thought it might even wake Cassian, but the young boy only sighs in his sleep.
Rayne, too, swallows a deep breath, one so heavy that it settles over the entire bedroom. She doesn't look at you when she speaks, her gaze fixed on something far ahead outside the window, something you could not see.
"That wasn't the postman, was it?"
Her tone is leveled, certain. It's not a question, not really, and judging by the way she avoids your gaze, you know that she knows.
"No," you say, closing the book as you place it on your lap, "It wasn't."
She parts her lips but no words come out, so she seals them together again. You thought she would ask about her mother, demand an explanation as to why her and her brother hadn't been allowed to see her. Was she angry with you? With Jungkook? But Rayne only nods, a slow tilt of her chin as she settles back against the pillows.
You lift a hand, letting it hover for a moment before gently placing it atop her head. When she doesn't immediately reject the initiated contact you let your fingers brush through her dark, silky hair. Her lashes kiss her cheeks as her eyes fall shut and she lets out air through her nose.
Ten minutes or so pass, it's not a comfortable silence but it isn't hostile either. After a while her breathing grows heavy as well, and she, too, falls asleep against your side. You stay frozen, simply basking in the feeling of having them close. Had it not been for the thought of Jungkook downstairs, you could've probably stayed where you were for hours.
The mattress groans when you carefully shift your weight off of it, making sure not to wake either of the children as you drape a blanket over them. The younger curls into his sister's side to fill the absence you had left behind. Rayne lets him, her nose twitching when a lock of curls brush across her cupids bow, then she relaxes again.
They look vulnerable like this, so small and fragile that it makes your heart ache. You stand there, watching them sleep a little longer before turning to head out of the room, closing the door after you soundlessly.
You move slowly down the stairs, hoping not to make too much noise as you descend. When passing the large hallway, you find that Yelena's shoes are gone from the foyer, indicating that she really had left. When entering the living room you find no trace of her left in there, save for the glass of water you had provided earlier.
Jungkook sits on the very same couch she had been not long ago. He cradles his head in both hands, dark fringe falling across his fingers. His elbows rest on his knees, leaving him bent forward as he breathes slowly and deeply.
You linger by the doorway, unsure if he would want company right now. But leaving him alone like this didn't feel like an option either.
He doesn't speak when you sink down on the cushion beside him, nor does he look up at you. Hell, you could've been a ghost for all you knew. There comes a moment of hesitation, then you reach up to place a hand on his shoulder, which immediately tenses under your touch.
"The kids are asleep," you tell him. Normally he wouldn't want them napping during the day — another bullet point on his long list of rules — you think this afternoon might be an exception.
Jungkook doesn't respond, but he exhales against his palms where his face remains buried. You sit in silence for a couple of minutes. He must know that whatever went down between him and Yelena wasn't exactly a private conversation, their voices had been loud enough to rattle the paintings on the walls and alert the neighbors. Even so, he makes no move to address it.
"What happened?"
Your question isn't malicious, it's concerned in nature, but perhaps he saw it differently. It sits between you, heavy and loaded, until he finally leans back against the couch. His hands fall away from his face, revealing the tension etched between his brows and into his jaw. "It doesn't matter," he says.
You frown, twisting in your seat to see him better. "Of course it matters," you press, "The children will asks questions, and I don't know how to answer them—"
"You don't have to," he sighs, "It's not your job."
Job.
That single word stings more than you want for it to. The way he still views everything as a transaction — after all that had happened between you two he still made it very clear that you were nothing but the kids' nanny, and he was nothing but your employer.
"Alright," you murmur, trying not to let the hurt show, "Will you at least tell me what's going on?"
Jungkook groans, rubbing his palm over his forehead before letting his hand drop to his lap. "I really don't want to talk right now," he grinds out, fingers digging into his own thigh as he sits rigidly.
You know that you should give it a rest but you can't help the pang of concern you'd felt at seeing Yelena — no matter how uncomfortable she made you. "She looked sick," you whisper and Jungkook's expression fractures slightly, "Is she going to be okay? Does she have a place to go?"
Though you knew very little about the woman who had appeared on the doorstep, you could tell that she had come here as a last resort — and Jungkook turned her away. For good reason you want to believe, but it still didn't ease your mind.
"I have it figured out just please—" He's still not looking at you, but the muscles in his face twitch as he heaves another breath. "Drop it, alright? She's an addict who has no business trying to get in contact with my children."
He speaks of her with such contempt, his features twisting with disgust as he utters each syllable. And yet, the tremble to his jaw and his glassy eyes betray him in the end. The conversation you'd had in his study earlier feels pathetic and small in comparison to whatever was going on right now — and you shove the feelings it had left you with aside as you shift a little closer, hoping to provide comfort.
"Do you want me to stay longer today?" you ask him, the hand you keep on his shoulder reaching for his face. "I could see to the children, take them out for a bit when they wake up?"
Jungkook's hand clasps around your wrist — firm though not painful — as he halts your fingers that were just shy of brushing his cheek. "No," he says flatly, tugging your hand back to your own lap, "I want you to go."
That cuts deeper than you'd expected for it to. He was rejecting you entirely, he didn't even want you around. And you know that you should be giving him space, it was obvious that the conversation between him and Yelena had upset him greatly but could he not see that you were only trying to help? And what of the children when they woke up?
You wondered how that would play out before realizing — it wasn't your job.
So with a defeated sigh you push yourself up from the sofa, nodding as you flatten out your shirt over your jeans. "Okay." Your footsteps echo throughout the room as you make your way across it. Only once you reach the doorway do you pause, turning to peer over your shoulder.
Jungkook was still sat on the couch, his gaze fixed to the floor. His face holds no emotion but you knew it was there, buried beneath the hardened layers. Your fingers curl into a loose fist before releasing again. "Call me if you need anything," a small olive branch that you hoped he would take, "You know where to find me."
But Jungkook simply grunts, not lifting his eyes even as you head to leave. The front door shuts a minute later and the house is left in silence. You clutch the car keys in one hand, all thought of taking the children for a ride vanishing as you slump down behind the wheel.
Letting out a big sigh that had been building in your chest for hours now, you twist on the engine and pull out of the driveway.
The streets are covered in snow, forcing you to go easy on the gas to stay steady. You wonder how Jungkook had managed to get home so quickly without landing himself in an accident… Immediately scolding yourself for letting your thoughts wander back to him, you try to steer your mind elsewhere.
Christmas spirit was still in the air. Almost each house you drove past had decorated gardens and you spotted trees in almost every home — a stark contrast to the Jeon estate. Families were out with their children, mothers and fathers holding hands, snowball fights taking place in the front yards. A domestic sight, really.
A big sign advertising fireworks reminds you that New Years was coming up in a short four days, and you still hadn't made any plans. Daehyun was going out with a couple of friends, you could surely tag along if you wanted to. Or perhaps you would spend it cooped up in your apartment, toasting to yourself at midnight before hitting the sack.
Part of you had hoped that after spending the holidays with them, Jungkook would invite you to celebrate the new year as well. Though that had been before he dropped you off at the train station, before your conversation in his study and before his ex-wife turned up on the front porch. You sigh, giving up on the idea again as you come to a stop by a red light.
Your fingers drum against the wheel mindlessly, your gaze drifting lazily across the street ahead of you when you suddenly spot her — Yelena.
She was walking down the street across from you to the right. Had it not been for her disheveled appearance, the thin fleece and mattered hair that made her stick out among the many, you probably wouldn't have noticed her. She trudges forward with her arms wrapped around her torso, shivering with each step and you pull your bottom lip between your teeth.
When the light turns green you don't hesitate to make a sharp turn, cutting off another car who expressed his dislike with a long, blaring honk. Ignoring him, you easily catch up with Yelena, slowing to match her pace as you lean over to roll down the window on the passenger side.
"Hey!"
Your voice startles her and she skips to the side as her head whips in your direction, her hair flying everywhere. For a moment she looks confused, then recognition settles over her features.
"Can I give you a ride anywhere?" You don't know what compels you to make the offer, all you know is that you're eager to get her off the freezing streets. Looking at her now — in the freezing December air — it was hard to think her to be the same woman that had been yelling inside Jungkook's living room.
You don't find yourself unsettled by her in this moment, even though she was clearly unwell. Rather, you pitied her as she walked down the pavement in nothing but a fleece to protect her from the darkest and coldest month of the year.
But Yelena doesn't seem to share your feelings. Her brows knit together as she eyes your car warily. "Did he send you?" There's venom lacing her every word and the mention of Jungkook catches you by surprise.
Keeping one hand steady on the wheel, you glance back at the road before shaking your head. "No. I just happened to drive by and—"
"Well you can tell him that he's a selfish asshole!" Yelena points a finger toward you, spitting the words in your face. "And I don't need you throwing me a pity party," she scowls, "I know that you called him, you snake." She turns away from you then, spinning on her heel and heading in the opposite direction just to get away.
You sit in stunned silence for a while, your vehicle barely inching forward as you blink slowly. The chilly breeze sweeps in through the open window on the passenger side but it's not until the drivers behind you start slamming their horns that you finally snap out of your trance.
Leaning over to hastily roll your window up, you press down on the gas to get them off your back. It seems like no matter what you do — your help was unwanted. With a final glance in the rear view mirror, you catch sight of Yelena's retreating figure in the distance. A sigh escapes you as you turn your attention back to the street before you, bumping the radio up to another lame Christmas Carol.
Then you drive home.
── [ ✉️ ] I like this I think. It's so different seeing Jungkook from a different POV after being in his head for so long. Some might think his reaction was a bit underwhelming (?) But trust me, he's going through it on the inside. We already know him to be very quiet about his feelings, but they'll be unfolding as the chapters go on. Please leave me your thoughts I'd love to hear them <3
synopsis: packed and ready to go for your best friend’s destination wedding in italy? check. hot, broody senior manager jeon jeongguk as the groom’s best man? nothing could’ve prepared you for that. alternatively, what happens in italy, stays in italy … right?
pairing: sr. manager!jeongguk x fem colleague!reader
wc: 15.6k
genre: forbidden love, coworkers au, smut, angst
cw: slice of life, age gap (jk 37, oc 22), cold jk (#TroubledMen), hopeless romantic oc, grief, negative family dynamics, side character death, corporate lingo, light fluff, rich privilege, yearning, one sided grudge, oc gets harassed, hurt with some comfort, 18+ ONLY, porn with lots of plot, sexual tension, fingering, oral (f receiving), unprotected sex, creampie, slight overstimulation, multiple orgasms, riding, missionary
a/n: pls go wish my queen n goat of dilf jk @lovieku the happiest bday! this was written as a gift to her <3 SHE DESERVES THE WORLD AND SO MUCH MORE
Auntie Lin’s only piece of advice after you announced your acceptance of your first corporate job: Small talk is your best friend. The advice hadn’t registered in your mind until you facilitated a meeting with executive management where the first five minutes of silent judgement nearly made you quit the job until you asked, “Any weekend plans?”
You learned the power of small talk and how obsessed executive leaders were when it came to bragging about their personal lives outside the office. The advice worked so well, management gave you an unprompted promotion two weeks later.
Nothing wrong with being the personality hire if it helps you climb the corporate ladder.
Okay, well, no, you had history with this company.
Your father’s connection with the talent acquisition management landed you an internship at this very company right out of high school, so you didn’t need to reestablish your rapport after graduating from university.
You’re still a hard worker. Yes … objectively speaking, nepotism played a part in your current successes — you don’t shy away from that fact.
Your charming and curious personality only got you so far, but the magic always stopped with one person.
Jeon Jeongguk.
Hard case to crack and even harder to not stare at when he’s within your vicinity.
He’s polished, well-spoken, and … let’s just say there are things you shouldn’t say or think about in a place of work, let alone towards someone in the senior management team. He hardly smiles and if he does, it’s never towards you.
Right now? You think the least Jeongguk could do is crack a smile at your joke to break the tension in the virtual meeting. No one liked hearing bad news and you became the bearer of bad news as you explained to the client why a deliverable will not be made by the proposed timeline.
Delivering bad news was a manager’s job and unfortunately, your manager entrusted you with this responsibility right before she left for maternity leave, raving about how it’ll build your leadership and communication skills … right, right.
Jeongguk was the other leader overseeing the project. His team met all the deliverables, so there was no real need for his attendance other than pure formalities.
This was your chance to show him what you were capable of.
“Mr. Choi, we apologize for not making the deadline. With half the team on leave, the estimated completion date will need to be extended as a result.” You explain.
Jeongguk sits and watches you exchange words with the client. The mic button remained on mute during the many moments you would’ve benefited from his direction or support. You didn’t think you’d have to go through a humiliation ritual the day before your big trip for your best friend’s wedding in Italy. It’s your turn to have your mic button on mute as you let the client chew you out in front of your peers.
“Mr. Choi.” Jeongguk interrupts.
Thank god, finally.
“The deliverables will be completed by the original proposed due date. I will personally see through that.”
You exhale in relief once the client settles back into their chair, demeanor shifting from their outburst moments ago.
You [3:32 p.m.]: Thank you, Jeongguk.
As expected, he doesn’t reply.
The meeting wraps up on a positive note thanks to Jeongguk’s interception. Everyone bids each other farewell until you hear a call of your name.
“Stay on the call. Need to discuss a few things with you.”
Confused, you aren’t sure why he doesn’t ask you to walk ten steps to his office to chat privately. You swallow and one by one, all of your colleagues leave the meeting until it’s just you and him.
He sighs, letting his agitation come out freely now. He loosens his tie and fixes his frames on his nose.
“So …” you begin.
“Do you know what your first mistake was on that call?” He sneers, a complete one-eighty from the well-mannered speaker he was during the meeting.
“I’m–uh, not sure.” You reply honestly.
“‘We apologize,’” he repeats your words, “there is no ‘we’ in this — you were the one that didn’t meet the service level agreement. Learn to take accountability for your own shortcomings.”
Ouch.
He continues, “You also failed to offer any alternatives or incentive for the delay. This is about being reputable — customer experience dictates future collaborations with new clients. If this one goes sour, we lose our clientele.”
Each word morphed into daggers piercing and digging into your self-esteem.
The finishing blow?
“That being said, you will finish what we originally promised the client.”
“But,” your heart drops at the mention of working during your time off, “I’m not going to be in the country.”
“I’m sure there’s internet wherever you’re going.”
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“And then! He said I’m paid salary, not hourly, so it doesn’t matter how long I need to work — I just need to get it done.” You complain to your colleague, Mina, who happened to work under Jeongguk’s section.
“Oof, sorry girl.” She pours the coffee into her cup, unsurprised by her boss’ expectations. Setting the pot back onto the warmer, she leans against the counter. It’s just the two of you in the breakroom, free from prying eyes and ears. “So what are you gonna do?”
You groan. As much as you’d like to ramble and moan about how unreasonable Jeongguk’s demands were, you knew he was right about needing to take accountability.
“Well, if I push in some work in the early morning and night the first couple of days in Italy, I should be able to get it done.” You sigh. “Just hate it.”
Mina pats your shoulder and gives you a reassuring smile, which soon changes into a bewildered expression as she digs her fingers into your shoulder.
“Oh, hey bossman, here for a coffee refill?” Mina’s voice strains, projected to the space behind you.
You turn and there stands Jeon Jeongguk in all his glory. While you had the privilege to see him earlier today during the virtual meeting, nothing compared to the real deal. Dressed in an all-black suit, Jeongguk looks ever immaculate. His face is free from his metal-framed glasses, but they leave their small indentations on the sides of his nose. The deadliest combo came in the form of his hair pushed back, exposing his wrinkle-free forehead.
If it weren’t for his wired earphones and outdated iPod you caught him with during his walk, you would’ve never guessed his age. Technically, you still don’t know the exact number but Anna in Human Resources hinted he’s in his mid to late thirties.
Whatever. Age is just a number and hasn’t stopped you from trying to befriend the older man.
“Yes, my third one today.” He muses.
“Anything the team and I can do to help wrap up things for you before your vacation?” Mina probes.
Wait. You never caught wind of that.
“No,” he shakes his head, “thank you, though.”
Your heart stirs at the low timbre of his chuckle, surprised at his abilities in displaying any other emotions outside his stoic expression. You theorize it comes easier with an established rapport.
Maybe you’ll try your luck today.
“How long are you going to be out for?” You ask, moving to the side so he has better access to the coffee pot. His scent naturally fills your space — a mixture of fresh laundry and cedarwood.
“Two weeks.”
“Oh, same here!” You beam.
“Yes, you’ve mentioned that quite a bit this month.”
You warm in embarrassment; though, the feelings get swept underneath the rug at another fact.
He listened — more importantly, he remembered your many musings.
“I’m going to Italy.” You remark, hoping he’d give a little more detail on his own vacation if you shared a bit about your upcoming adventures.
Jeongguk freezes momentarily and clears his throat before setting down the nearly empty pot.
“That’s nice.”
Seizing the moment to continue the conversation, you throw out details of your trip, namely for the wedding you’ll attend as maid of honor for your best friend.
“And they’re going to have this lovely venue near the beach. It’s going to be great.” You marvel.
“Ugh, I’m jealous,” Mina pouts. “Are you going to be doing something fun during your time off, Jeongguk?”
You watch him with expectant eyes.
“Tending some family matters.”
That’s corporate lingo for: it’s personal, so none of your business. Everyone knows to back off on the topic at that point.
Taking a sip of his coffee after mixing a pack of Splenda, he offers a tight-lipped smile, “I have to head back to the desk. Enjoy your break.”
Alone with Mina once again, you look at her with defeated eyes.
“He’s just introverted and private, babe. I wouldn’t sweat it.” She waves.
“I’ve been here for over a year and he’s never like this to management or clients.” You sigh. “Maybe I’m the problem.”
It’s hard to not take things to heart being a natural born people pleaser. You want to be liked and if you’re not, at least know why; except, Jeongguk kept things strictly work related with all the little pocket of interactions you’ve had with him.
If you were brave enough, you’d ask him about it over coffee or lunch — anywhere that might give you a glimpse of who he is outside of work.
“Don’t mind him. In about twenty-four hours, you’ll be in Italy! Last time you updated, the best man was a little wishy-washy about the wedding? How’s that going?”
“Jihyo said Seojun got it sorted out, so they’re okay.” All you know from the matter is how much of a struggle it was to get a definite answer from his best man. Prick move and unnecessary stress for the wedding party. Had you been in Seojun’s position, you would’ve cut losses and moved forward without the best man early on.
Planning a wedding was difficult enough, let alone dealing with difficult people in the wedding party. You pray he steps into his role as the best man to lessen the to-be-wedded couple’s worries.
“Good. Wedding drama’s the worst.” Mina nods. “Still haven’t recovered from finding out my cousin’s husband was fucking his cousin.”
The gossip session goes for another fifteen minutes until you begrudgingly head back to finish up some last minute tasks. You weren’t going to be that coworker who leaves a bunch of unfinished work for your backup.
Another thing you didn’t want to be was like your father, but you’re no different by the time you finish your pending tasks at 9:52 p.m. You do a quick once-over your automatic out-of-office notice and send out a list of items for your backup to look after before stuffing all your belongings into your workbag.
Going home was always your favorite time of the day, granting you the chance to walk past Jeongguk’s office. Even from where you’re standing, the lights in his office are the only ones still on out of all the managers on the floor.
His door remains slightly ajar throughout the day aside from the times he’s on a call or speaking to one of his employees. An ‘open door policy,’ Mina explained. Wants the folks on his team comfortable coming to him with their needs or questions.
You didn’t need anything, per se. There were plenty of questions floating in your head, but none that would qualify as work-related or professional. Things like … where are you going for vacation? Would you like to grab dinner together? … Are you seeing anyone?
Your short almond shaped nails tap on his metal name plaque outside his office.
He looks up from his computer, the monitor’s brightness setting doing little to hide his exhausted stare. One brow raised, he cocks his head to the side.
“Come in.”
You take in your surroundings: a shelf containing all his Employee of the Year awards, empty “In” bin as opposed to a stacked “Out” bin, and half-finished cup of coffee. Above all, no pictures of his family or signs of life outside of work.
A stark contrast in comparison to your cubicle full of small trinkets, pictures of your loved ones, and cards you’ve received from both your coworkers and clients.
“Just wanted to say goodnight and thank you again for joining the meeting.” You say. “I followed up with the client with your recommendations and they’re happy with the timeline.”
He nods. “I’m glad it worked out.”
“Well,” You rock on your heels, not wanting to leave just yet, “I’ll see you in two weeks. Hope you have a nice time off, Jeongguk.”
He leans back into his deskchair, glasses slipping down the bridge of his nose as he studies your face. His black dress shirt stretches and expands tightly at a passing thought; at the last second, he makes his resolve in foregoing the notion for simpler words.
“Likewise. Safe travels to Italy.”
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Despite the two layovers and many near-death turbulences later, you arrive in Venice, Italy in one piece. Your best friend, Jihyo, was the first person you see at the gates, smile lighting up the building when she finally spots you through the crowds. These days, she glows more with her soon-to-be husband, Seojun.
You’ve met him only a handful of times and he’s always been kind. You don’t know him well enough, but as long as your friend was happy, so were you.
Which is why she’s going all out for her wedding — it’s her chance to do what she wants with those who care for her. Jihyo’s parents unfortunately did not extend their support and care. They were so against the idea of her marrying a person of no status, her father threatened to cut off all ties and funds if she were to go through with marrying Seojun.
“My favorite person is finally here!” She squeezes you in her arms. “How was the flight? Are you hungry? We can go get a quick bite.”
“Jihyo, love, slow down,” Seojun comes from behind and offers you a kind greeting. “You must be exhausted. We can head back to the hotel. Just waiting for my uncle to clear customs.”
“Oh! Do you know when he’ll land?” You ask.
“I think he was on the same flight as you, so he should be out soon.” He pulls out his phone to answer a quick text before scanning the area.
“Think that’s him.” He squints. “Uncle, over here!” He extends his arm above his head.
You expected a fifty year old balding man, not senior manager, Jeon Jeongguk.
Fuck.
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You didn’t think you’d ever ride in the same car as one of your managers, especially one you had a dire crush on. You definitely didn’t think you’d be seated in the back of a rental car with him in Italy for your best friend’s wedding.
This whole scenario has to be straight out a romcom … or, in your case, a horror film.
You open up the notes app in your phone and type out a quick message: Do we tell them we know each other?
What you really wanted to ask was: Why the hell didn’t you say anything about this being the “family matter” you had to take care of?
He takes your phone from your hand and begins typing something before handing it back to you. Nothing from your original note was edited, but a second later a notification comes through.
Jeongguk [4:56 p.m.]: No. Too complicated.
You [4:56 p.m.]: Okay..
“Uncle.” Seojun looks at the rear mirror. “How’s work been?”
“Busy,” he sighs. “But it’s been getting better.”
“I’m glad. Hope these two weeks will give you the break you need. You didn’t bring your work laptop, right?” He presses.
Kind of cute seeing the younger male lecture his uncle — cuter seeing Jeongguk grumble at his nephew’s nagging.
“No promises.”
“Speaking of work,” Jihyo chimes in, “How you coping with work?” She turns her entire body from the passenger seat to look at you.
The passengers in the car go silent for your reply, feeling Jeongguk’s shift from the work status inquiry.
“Fine.” You answer quickly.
“Really? That one manager didn’t give you more shit right–”
“Jihyo!” You interrupt, quickly covering up with an awkward laugh and stiff smile, “ Ha-ha … no, it’s been great!”
“Wha–? But you were venting about having to work during the trip … Honestly, that manager’s lucky he’s hot.”
“Ji–”
“Hot?” Jeongguk asks with a raised brow. There’s a lift in his voice, forcing you to bury and shrink deeper into your seat.
“Allegedly.” Jihyo replies mindlessly. Oblivious to your discomfort of the topic, Jihyo continues, “You still gotta sneak a picture of him when you can, babe. I need to see if his pretty privileges warrant this sort of power trip.”
You’ve heard summers in Italy were magical. You wish for some of that magic to touch you right now — the kind good enough to make you disappear all together from this awkward conversation.
“Huh.” Jeongguk props his elbow by the car’s window ledge, palm covering his mouth. “I’m curious too.”
Jihyo changes the topic to the itinerary she made for the wedding party; however, you couldn’t be bothered to tune into the details. Knowing Jihyo, she’ll eventually send the party a spreadsheet of the schedule.
You [5:02 p.m.]: Please ignore Jihyo 🥹
Your heart accelerates at the appearance of the infamous dots signaling Jeongguk’s reply in the making.
Jeongguk [5:03 p.m.]: I’ll try. Power trips make it insanely hard to.
You chew on your bottom lip out of habit, feeling the sweat gather behind your neck. Hand fanning your face, you glance over and notice a slight shake in Jeongguk’s stature. He’s still facing away from you and towards the window, but from the reflection, you can see the corners of his mouth lift.
Endorphins rush through your bloodstream at the thought of making him happy.
While chasing your happiness has always been your life motto, you wouldn’t mind chasing for Jeongguk’s happiness too.
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On Jihyo’s itinerary, she deliberately left Venice off from the rest of the wedding party arriving later at the actual wedding site. The next two days were solely meant to spend more time with the maid of honor and best man.
The first day in Venice naturally got cut short with your arrival time; so, the only thing Jihyo planned was a nice dinner after you and Jeongguk settled into your respective rooms. Dinner rolls by with just you, Jihyo, and Seojun perusing the menu for the umpteenth time. The seat, meant for Jeongguk, remains cold and empty. After about thirty minutes and a couple text messages, Seojun confirms with the waiter to remove the utensils and plate — something about his uncle not feeling well.
“Okay, but he’ll be at dinner tomorrow, right?” Jihyo frowns, eyes full of worry.
“Yes, love.” He smiles. “Just old man tendencies and jetlag got the best of him. He’ll be there tomorrow.”
Back at the hotel, you had half a mind to check in on him and just as you built up the courage to knock, the door swings open to reveal a Jeongguk you’ve yet to ever witness: dark grey compression shirt with five-inch inseam shorts. He has his wired earphones in and looks well rested, contrary to what Seojun mentioned at dinner about two hours ago.
“Oh, are you feeling better?” You ask, hand retracted and tucked behind your back.
His brows twitch, fingers removing one of the buds out his ear. “Sorry?”
“Seojun mentioned you weren’t feeling well. Are you better now?”
“Yep.” He answers.
Awkward.
“Where you headed to? It’s late.” You rock on your heels, afraid you might’ve overstepped with your light interrogation.
“Saw a small running trail nearby, just wanna get some movement in.”
“Would you like—”
“Well, goodnight.” He places the earpiece back in and walks off, the scent of his fresh linen deodorant trails along with him.
“—company?” The end of your sentence comes out in a tiny whisper, the question dying on the tip of your tongue as his figure disappears in the distance.
It was going to be a long two weeks, but you’re optimistic for a chance to change the tides with Jeongguk. Maybe even get to know him a little better or collect more versions of who he may be outside of work before this trip ends.
Arms linked with Jihyo, you walk down the small alleyways of Venice the next day, marveling at the tiny trinkets on display. Seojun and Jeongguk were always a couple steps behind, mainly taking note of the repeating gelato flavors at each stand. Your ears perk when Jeongguk chuckles at Seojun’s excitement of finally finding a stall with a new flavor. His laugh rings deep and rich, something you’re rarely afforded at the workplace.
You hold up two carnival masks to your face. “Which one suits me better?” You preferred the pink one in your left hand, but the green in your right hand spoke to you as well.
“Mm, you know I’ll always favor pink, but is there room in your suitcase?” Jihyo inquires.
Well, no, but you could always buy another suitcase.
“All going to end up as clutter once you’re home.” Jeongguk mutters to himself, eyeing the other trinkets on the shelf.
Whether or not it was directed at you, you put the mask back with the rest. The shop owner smiles, a little dejected at the missed sale, but with the numerous tourists filtering through the alley, he’s bound to make his daily quota by closing time.
The rest of the day is spent on trying new food — your favorite being the bruschetta flight near the waters. Again, Jeongguk and Seojun were always a couple steps behind, chatting about god knows what while you and Jihyo swap gelatos between every two or so licks. Venice was packed — mainly with tourists, but in a specific alleyway you all decided to turn into held a different kind of danger.
Pigeons. Lots of them.
One could argue Venice might be the motherland to birds; you’re not in any position to disagree as you cower between the birds staring down at your group from the railings. They swarm around your feet, begging for whatever you’d offer or accidentally drop.
Lucky for you, a shop owner comes and throws out bits of their baguettes. All the pigeons flock over in pursuit of their (probable) tenth snack for the day. You breathe a sigh of relief for the small deterrence, walking quicker to escape from the flock.
“Phew, thought we were goners back there.” Jihyo jokes, looking back at the boys.
At the last second, a seagull swoops in and takes the unfinished gelato right from your hand. You let out a blood curdling scream, hand immediately letting go of the cone. You grab Jihyo by the shoulder and chant for the birds to take her as an offering instead.
Everyone within the vicinity laughed, some tourists offered a sympathetic smile and asked if you were okay. Among the laughter, Jeongguk’s chuckle echoes loudest in your head. It had never been your goal to become the group’s court jester, but you wouldn’t mind making it your life’s sole purpose for this version of him.
Seojun checks his watch. “Jihyo, baby, we still have five more hours to kill before our flight over to Sicily. Should we head back to the hotel? Uncle said he’s tired—”
Smile wiped off his handsome face, Jeongguk nudges the young man in the arm. “Don’t use me as a scapegoat.”
You never realized how much the two men resembled each other, catching you off guard when Jeongguk hooks his arm around Seojun’s neck, and rubs his knuckles over his nephew’s head. Their laughter comes out the same, pairing well with their toothy grins.
“We only have one last item on the itinerary.” Jihyo says, a fond smile at the sight of her happy fiance. “I wanted to do a little gondola ride.”
Most tourists seized the golden hour for their boat ride too, which sent you and your group on a hunt for an unoccupied gondola, eventually finding two docked boats on the opposite entrance of Venice.
“I’ll pass.” Jeongguk says with a hand up.
Jihyo pouts, pointing in your direction. “But she’d be all alone.”
“Oh, um, I don’t mind staying behind.” You smile, doing your best to not sound disappointed at the lost experience. “Can always ride a boat at home.”
“But Miss, when will you ride a gondola in Venice while the sun is setting?” One of the gondoliers pitches.
“He’s right.” Jihyo nods. “Please, Jeongguk?”
He’d rather not waste money on a tourist trap … one look at Jihyo’s pleading eyes in combination with his nephew’s displeased stare has him folding on the spot.
Defeated, he sighs, “Fine.”
Jihyo cheers, skipping over to the first boat lined up where Seojun waits patiently with a hand out for her.
Their boat rows off first and five minutes later, it was yours and Jeongguk’s turn to step into the gondola. He holds out his hand to steady your step, boat wobbling as you plant your first foot down. His hold lingers a little longer even when you’ve successfully made it into the boat. Eyes peering up at Jeongguk’s tall stature, your body heats up under his watchful gaze.
“Steady now?”
“Yes.” You chirp.
“Good.” He lowers you both carefully onto the small seats. Once secured, the gondolier begins his descent through the canals.
Naturally, you strike up a conversation with the gondolier, asking how many rides he averages a day to which he politely answers, ‘too many to count.’ The conversation goes on for another five minutes until Jeongguk sighs, a subtle signal for you to stop and take in your surroundings instead.
Despite the on and off whiffs of the decade old sewage lines rooted in the city, the ride descends to the narrower alleyways one would miss on foot. Water levels rising, the gondolier signals you both to duck at an approaching bridge. You hadn’t realized you didn’t duck low enough until you feel Jeongguk’s warm palm at the base of your head, urging you lower.
His hand rests there until it’s time for you both to lift your heads up again. So warm and thoughtful, unlike how he’s been treating you at work.
You might explode at the silence, finding the need to address the elephant in the room. What were the odds you’d be alone with Jeongguk again? What are the odds you’d be riding on a gondola in Venice, Italy with Jeongguk?
“Do you hate me?” You blurt out, immediately embarrassed at your sudden forwardness. The gondolier peers from the side and looks forward again, slowing his rowing motion with his oar.
Jeongguk’s brows furrow, lips pressed into a thin line. “I don’t hate you.”
“It seems like you do. You always are just so …”
“So …?” He trails along.
“Mean.” You frown. Feeling more foolish for your lack of proper vocabulary words for such a serious confrontation, you do your best to explain. “You seem to get along with everyone else at work and even here. You’re nice to everyone but me.”
He stares straight ahead, tongue probing against his cheek. He doesn’t respond right away and you deflate at your wasted effort in an attempt to understand Jeongguk beyond the cubicle. You only hear the waters splashing against the gondola as the oar steers you both to another quieter route.
If Jeongguk didn’t hate you before, he probably does right now. So evident in his silence and unwillingness to discuss this topic, you wonder to yourself … were older generations this bad with expressing their emotions and thoughts? Your father was a great example, and while you don’t want to generalize an entire generation, Jeongguk drives a hard bargain.
“How’d you get into Cientra Corporations?” The question rolls out of Jeongguk with no hint of curiosity.
What did your place of work have anything to do with his alleged animosity?
“I applied for an opening.” You answer.
His chuckles, full of mock and taunt. “When?”
You frown, a little taken aback by the conversation now turned into an interrogation.
“I think a month before my graduation?” Your stomach churns from the unpredictability of his next words.
“Right, of course.” Jeongguk looks to the side, eyes tracing the water stains on the old brick buildings.
“I’ve had plenty of internships during undergrad and I graduated early with honors.” His demeanor only makes you overexplain your qualifications. “My recruitment was done through a fair hiring process.”
“The position was not in the budget.” He rolls his eyes, his crossed arms accentuates his muscular build. If you were more shameless, you’d let your eyes linger at his chest for a little longer despite how his next words batters your pride. “Freshly graduated with little to no experience landing a mid-entry position?”
You’re not ashamed to admit you had a foot in thanks to your connections. Of course, you were unaware a position had been created just for you, but to insinuate you didn’t deserve your place … now, that was not something you’d take lightly.
“I’ve worked hard with all the opportunities—”
“As one should.” He interrupts. “But all your ‘opportunities’ only became yours because they were taken away from someone else. There were at least ten other highly qualified applicants in the candidate pool.”
You open your mouth, but Jeongguk beats you to it, “One summer internship at Cientra wouldn’t have gotten anyone else into the company.”
Now that shatters you. You had really thought you stood out in the pool considering you had previously applied and interned for the same company. Now you’re rethinking whether you’ve also gotten the job purely from connections.
Fighting through your imposter syndrome, you stand your ground. “At the end of the day, I was chosen and I take my job seriously. I can’t change what’s already set in stone.”
“That’s your privilege speaking.” He leans against the backrest. “I’ll only repeat this once: I don’t hate you.” Extremely hard to believe after your self esteem’s been kicked to the curb.
And despite the sour mood, you still try to salvage what you can. “Okay,” You breathe, “Regardless of how you feel about me, can we get along for the sake of the wedding?”
“Of course.” He rolls his shoulders, discomfort clear from the small chair setup. “Trying to make this wedding as seamless and pain-free as possible.”
You piece his aversion to the wedding now. The last minute confirmation of his attendance and lack of enthusiasm for the trip’s activities … it all checks. The gondolier rounds to the ride’s starting point and docks the boat where you and Jeongguk need to quickly alter your attitude in front of the unsuspecting couple.
Jeongguk stays behind to tip the gondolier, murmuring his apologies for the tense ride. From a distance, you overhear the gondolier snort, saying something on the lines of how he should be tipping Jeongguk for the soap opera level conversation.
Your act works — neither Jihyo nor Seojun suspected any shift in moods because Jihyo was too busy begging for another cannoli and, of course, Seojun being the exceptional fiance he is, advised you guys to return to the hotel first to prepare for the flight while he ran to the specific stall Jihyo requested for.
“Uncle, you go on ahead with the girls.”
Jeongguk shakes his head. “I’ll come with you.”
On the train ride back to the hotel, Jihyo lays her head on your shoulder. “I think Uncle Jeongguk hates me.”
That makes the two of you.
She continues, “I know this wedding was rushed, but I thought he’d warm up to the idea of us by now.”
Very out of character for Jihyo to sulk over the minute things in life. You’re not one to talk, knowing firsthand what it’s like to wish for someone’s approval.
“Hey … it’s been less than two days. And who cares what he thinks? You and Seojun are in this for life.”
“I know, I know. Seojun just adores his uncle, you know? That’s his only family.” Jihyo frowns. Unlike him, she’s grown up in a big and affluent family her entire life — well, now cut in half since her choice to marry Seojun, a man of no title or status. She can bear the disdain from her own family, but she doesn’t want Seojun to lose his one and only family member over their choices.
“I was thinking,” Jihyo begins, suddenly sitting upright with determined eyes. “You know, you’re always so fun and great with people … could you maybe get to know Uncle Jeongguk and put in a good word for me? Just until the time of the wedding at least.”
You’ve never seen her this desperate. You ponder back to the conversation on the gondola and if there were little to no chance of making things right with Jeongguk yourself, how were you going to do it for Jihyo?
You’re no better than Seojun and eventually give into her plea.
“Okay.” You smile, arms embracing her.
All checked out of the Venice hotel, your party makes it through the airport’s security checkpoint just in time for the flight to the actual wedding destination: Sicily.
Italy is magical and Sicily proved every part of that belief even in the cab ride over to the rental property. Windows down, you let the warm breeze run through your locks, uncaring if the sea salted air clung onto your hair and skin. The tips of your hair unknowingly float over and graze Jeongguk’s arms, marking and reminding him of your presence whether or not he welcomed it.
Jihyo really went all out and booked the dreamiest villa. The villa had everything: a fifteen minute walk to the wedding venue, close to local shops and restaurants, and here’s your favorite: the beach. It’s perfect … almost as perfect as the living situation Jihyo had planned out. No brainer, she and Seojun would get the main house while you and Jeongguk would occupy the cottage a couple steps away.
“Dinner in fifteen minutes? I have a reservation with the restaurant down the street.” Jihyo shrugs her duffle bag higher on her shoulders to which Seojun immediately takes after he unloaded all the other suitcases from the trunk.
“Isn’t it a little late for dinner?” Jeongguk reads his watch.
“Customary to eat later in Italy.” Jihyo smiles.
Jeongguk checked off all the body cues to decline. His resolve crumbles yet again from another one of Seojun’s stares, ultimately agreeing to dinner after settling in.
The first thing you and Jeongguk noticed upon entering the cottage was the stuffy and warm air from the windows being closed for too long. No matter how hard you push and yank the panes, the windows just wouldn’t budge. With a sigh, a strong source of heat presses against your backside.
The scent of fresh linen only welcomes you after laundry day and whenever you’ve switched out your bedsheets. Your mind wanders around scenarios of being welcomed by this exact scent and warmth in bed, sheets needing to be constantly changed afterwards.
Fuck.
Jeongguk’s fingers pull at the knobs above the window sill. Using way less force and energy, the window cracks open with ease and the crisp crash of waves in the distance meets your ears. Nothing was louder than the beating in your chest — must’ve been your imagination when you thought Jeongguk stayed a beat longer behind, breath sucked in from the proximity.
You replay the scenario in your head even at the dinner table.
The times you’ve looked up from your plate, you’ve unconsciously caught Jeongguk staring in your direction too. He looks away, suddenly mesmerized by the shoreline. His attention pulls at some clapping in the background, waiters and waitresses nearing your section of the restaurant. Your smile widens as they circle your table, confused but pleased by the grand gesture.
Setting a small cake down on the table and resuming their singing, you peer over at the frosted words: Happy 37th Birthday, Jeongguk!
Jeongguk keeps his smile at a sensible level, not wanting to show too much excitement.
After the employees leave, Seojun beams, “Jihyo arranged this. Nice, huh?” He has his arm around her shoulder.
“Yes, very. Thank you, Jihyo.” Jeongguk smiles, warm and sincere.
Bellies full, you all walk back to the property. Everything seems to fall into its natural place. Jeongguk lets you shower first and because you’re self conscious of taking too much time, you cut your usual routine by half. You’re seated at the same window sill again, watching the shoreline.
The lights in the room turn on and you startle. Looking back, you catch a half naked Jeongguk drying his wet hair with a small towel. Bare torso on full display, you gulp at the sight while unknowingly clenching your thighs together.
Thirty-seven looked good on Jeongguk.
You hope you looked this good at that age, but you have a long way to go. At twenty-two, you know your two little tattoos, one on your lower back and the other on your forearm, will look completely different in fifteen years. They’re nothing like Jeongguk’s, especially with all the intricate tattoos going up his arm, stopping at his chest — both old and new ones. In the office, you’ve only seen a snippet of his tattoos on his forearm, now you’ve been granted full access. Which you’re reminded that everything that happens in Italy will have to stay here. Water break chatter with Mina will exclude these details, saving these memories just for yourself on lonelier nights.
Jeongguk sucks in a breath, surprised at the sight of you. Should be in bed and knocked out from today’s festivities, but you’re there in your silk pajamas, shorts riding dangerously high in your seated position with your knees hiked up to your chest. His jaw clenches, fixing himself a glass of water at the kitchen sink. Hips pressed against the sink counter, he drinks the water, letting a couple droplets dribble past his chin and sharp jawline.
Summers in Italy were magical, but were they usually this hot?
You edge closer to the window sill, praying for the night breeze to snap you out of whatever spell you caught at this hour.
“Jetlagged?” He asks, rinsing the cup. You blink at his question, a little confused at his initiation. It warms you, but you know better than to latch onto this small exchange.
“A little.” You let out a disgruntled sound as you get up. You think you’ve must’ve hallucinated Jeongguk’s frustrated exhale at your change of position. “You?”
“Mhm. Not as bad as the first night. The run helped.” He replies.
You have all the reason not to get along with him, let alone strike a normal conversation; though, you bare your warmest and genuine smile, “That’s nice. I’m glad.”
“Yes. Well. Goodnight.” He clears his throat.
The lock on your door clicks first, back pushed against the door for some grounding and support. Your bones click against the hard surface, ears cluing in for any sounds from your temporary roommate on the other threshold. His door shuts too, followed by a deep sigh.
There’s some shuffling followed by a drop of what you assumed were clothing. Hot and consumed by your thoughts, your mind spirals at the image of him in nothing but his briefs.
God, this was going to be a long trip.
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The internet connection in this villa was probably the worst thing Jeongguk has ever encountered in his life — even worse than the time he went abroad for school during his prime. It was another neighboring country, but still … how hard was it to get an adequate signal?
He’s tried everything. Sitting in odd places, being closer to the router — nothing’s worked.
He looks out the same window you were seated at last night, hoping to find an answer before he hurls his laptop out.
Until he sees you.
You’re seated outside near a lemon tree between the two accommodations, laptop perched on the patio table while you tug at one of the nearby branches for a quick sniff at the fruit. Your eyes shut in bliss, lemon distracting you with its fresh scent.
You’ve done well to distract Jeongguk from his work too. As much as he’d like to hold onto this vendetta, he knows the grudge was misdirected and undeserving. He also knows a part of his hesitancy with you is who you are. Knows the reasons why you were hired aside from the connections you had. And although you had a good personality, he can’t call you a personality hire if you knew how to do your job.
He won’t deny your accomplishments in school, allowing you to graduate with high honors by the time you were twenty. You were an adequate worker, but again, only because you were given unfair advantages — tools and resources that were taken away from someone else more deserving and eligible.
His grudge stretched beyond that, having been on the other receiving end of losing opportunities because of his upbringings. So yeah … maybe he’s biased.
You, on the other hand, want to hurl your laptop for other reasons. The laptop sits on top of the patio table, waiting for you to begin your long half day of work.
The metal legs of the empty chair across from you scrape against the concrete floor.
“Mind if I join you?”
You straighten from your slouched posture, surprised eyes meeting his neutral expression. Vacations were meant for fun, not the work you were trying to escape from. With Jeongguk here, you really can’t slack off. You quickly clear your items from the small table and gesture for him to sit.
“Terrible connection in the cottage.” You remark. “Gave me problems all morning.”
He hums, typing away on the laptop to make up for the lost time. You fall back into your work too seeing that there was a good motivator.
On your left side, there’s a small bowl of olives paired with the wine Jihyo delivered to your shared cottage. Jeongguk stares at the bowl, following one of the olives held by your fingers and popped in between your plump lips.
A small puff of air escapes through his nose at your winced expression from the initial burst of flavors, washing it down with a swig of wine.
“Would you like to try?” You push the bowl towards him.
“Didn’t look all that good.” He stares up, glasses slipping down the bridge of his nose. Though small, you detect a teasing tone in his comment.
“It was … different. But!” You perk, “When will we be in Italy again, in a beautiful villa eating olives while working?”
Answer? Never.
Such a ridiculous thought that he reaches into the small ceramic bowl to plop an olive into his mouth. The bitter tang of the small fruit amplifies on his tongue from your expectant stare.
Not unpleasant, but there were plenty of other cuisine choices in Italy worth trying.
Though, when will Jeon Jeongguk be in Italy again, in a beautiful villa eating olives while working with your melodic laughter resonating in his ears as you scoot your wine glass over to him?
Tongue no longer graced with the olive’s bitterness, a new type of bitterness spreads as Seojun and Jihyo announce they’re headed to the beach.
“How much longer do you need to work?” Jihyo pouts, hands on her hips as she peers down at your laptop. She’s not reading anything you have opened, deeming them unimportant especially when you should be spending time with her.
You offer a sheepish smile, afraid to voice your true thoughts in front of management. Jeongguk keeps his face trained to his screen, brows twitching in an attempt to hide his bemusement.
Had it been anyone else in front of you, you’d throw your hands in the air and say ‘Fuck it.’ But it was Jeongguk … one of the higher-ups you’d always admired — whose opinion you immensely cared for.
“Uncle …” Seojun frowns. “You promised you weren’t going to work.”
“Code red. Need to take care of this.” Jeongguk explains.
Seojun sighs, the expression resounds his frustration to his uncle’s work habits.
In the short span of time working at the company, you’ve never seen Jeongguk falter; yet, the man seated across from you wavers at his nephew’s disappointment.
“It’ll be quick.” He remedies.
You also know Jeongguk took his time. He’s meticulous and wants everything right the first time around. It appears Seojun knows this too, not taking his promises too seriously, and grunting a small ‘okay’ before he takes Jihyo’s hand to lead them both to the beach.
Jeongguk purses his lips, a vexed expression he doesn’t let linger for long. You shouldn’t meddle with family affairs, but you couldn’t help thinking back to the missed dinners, absent parent recitals, and text messages telling you to not wait up late from your father.
“Work’s never that important.” The words slip past your mouth before realizing it.
Jeongguk isn’t afraid to voice his response too, seemingly prepared for your judgment.
“Easy for you to say.” His eyes narrow. “Some people aren’t afforded breaks.”
You take another bite of the olives, hoping the flavor would conceal the shame. The invisible wall between you and Jeongguk grows higher and thicker, making it impossible to penetrate. You refocus on the task at hand.
Three hours pass with the sound of birds and ocean in the background — the sounds would have been enough for anyone to relax into their work, but all it does is make you yearn for fun. Makes you think anything might be better than being with the man seated across from you. Which is so unlike you when just a week ago, you’d do just about anything to be closer to him in the office.
Every five minutes, you have to look at the shoreline and the people enjoying the summer rays. It was a good distraction until the envy sets in.
Another deep sigh.
“Go.”
“Huh?” You look up from your laptop.
“I have access to your document in the shared drive. You won’t be leaving any time soon at the rate you’re moving.” He takes off his glasses, index and thumb pinching and rubbing to relieve himself of any tension. “Go spend some time with Jihyo.”
You almost think it’s a test until he looks at you questioningly for not having moved. You scramble to close out everything after a quick thank you before going back into the cottage to change. You shouldn’t feel guilty as you slip into your swimsuit and cover-up … shouldn’t feel guilty exiting the property, sneaking one final look back at the patio.
You shouldn’t ache the way you do for Jeongguk’s content smile when he nears the lemon tree.
Even Jeon Jeongguk needs breaks too.
You blame the aches from having laid down in the sand for an hour and not at the image of him back at the villa taking on your unfinished work. He made his decision, so why are you still feeling this way?
“Uncle!” Seojun beams. “You made it.”
At the acknowledgment, you lift your head up and it’s none other than the man who’s plagued your mind since you’ve left the villa. He’s changed into lighter clothing, a short-sleeve button up over his white tank top with some beach shorts. The tight tank top hugs around his figure, ab ridges outlined from his small chuckle. The contraction intensifies when he looks down at you and over your stringy two-piece bikini.
He clears his throat. “Was able to wrap up what I needed to get done for the day.”
“Good.” Seojun replies. “Should enjoy our time while we can.”
Jeongguk’s face falls; immediately, the moment’s swept away when Jihyo calls for Seojun to help her take pictures.
The older male settles next to you, mindful to not kick up any sand in the process. The couple eventually go to get some refreshments, leaving both you and Jeongguk under the rays of the sun.
He doesn’t say much … actually, he doesn’t say anything as he stares out to the bluest waters.
“Thank you, Jeongguk.” You say. “You didn’t have to.”
You wonder if your father had acted the same at work, taking on additional workload he didn’t necessarily have to at the expense of missing out on moments in your life.
Jeongguk isn’t your father. He didn’t have obligations to you. Didn’t need to sacrifice his own time for your sake.
The center of a candy was usually the sweetest — perhaps if you keep at it, you’ll discover more of Jeongguk’s sweetness too.
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Being around Jeongguk has been a tad more tangible now that you’ve spent a few hours together the next couple of days working in the morning, ending the nights over dinner with the couple.
The next evening, Jihyo has you all crammed in a kitchen for a cooking lesson with a private chef. You’re on garlic peeling duties with Jeongguk, fingers sticky from the essence of the individual cloves, so sure this scent was going to linger on your skin.
Jeongguk remains unaffected, diligently peeling away. At the sight of you rubbing your sticky fingers together, he chuckles.
“Just wash your hands in between.”
The advice works. While you’ve barely peeled half a clove, Jeongguk was already on his second.
“Did you have ‘pro-garlic peeler’ on your resume?” You try teasing.
He pauses, a small smile on his lips as he continues peeling the cloves.
“My sister had me on garlic peeling duties whenever we cooked.”
As far as you’re aware from Jihyo, the topic of Seojun’s mother was unspoken … only knowing she passed when he was very young.
You work a little harder peeling the leftover cloves, running your hands under the faucet to rid yourself of the stickiness. The stickiness retained in your chest whenever Jeongguk peers over at your pile of perfectly peeled garlic. It’s retained throughout dinner and the glasses of wine served during and after a meal, following you as the group takes a walk on the beach the night before the rest of the wedding party was scheduled to meet for the rehearsal dinner tomorrow.
Jihyo yawns and announces she’ll head back to the villa to rest. Naturally, Seojun follows along. You expect Jeongguk to do the same, but he sits on the brick wall staring out at the beach.
You tuck your hair behind your ear and a strong, pungent scent greets you. Hand discreetly at the front of your face, you sniff.
“The smell doesn’t leave for a bit.” Jeongguk says. “My sister always recommended lemon juice and a little bit of soap.”
“Have you tried it?” You ask, tucking your hands underneath you to hide the excitement of Jeongguk initiating a conversation with you.
He shakes his head, “I like the smell of garlic.”
Be it from the glasses of wine served over dinner, you’re bolder as you ask about his sister. And he’s just as loose-lipped as he recalls memories of her. You learned she was four years older than Jeongguk, her first job was at their aunt and uncle’s convenience store, and they were ultimately left to fend for themselves the moment she had Seojun at eighteen.
Every story, small chuckle, and silence of the memory of his sister only softens the hard, jagged edges around Jeongguk.
“She sounds lovely.”
“She was,” he concedes, “Would’ve loved Italy too.” He speaks into the sea-salted air. He leans back, hands anchoring himself up as he looks up at the clear night sky. “Maybe give her son an earful about marrying too early.” She’d know firsthand how she lost out on her own developmental years as a result of having Seojun early with a man that wanted no part in fatherhood. Though, a small part of Jeongguk knows his sister would’ve adored Jihyo.
Back at the villa’s garden, you make a quick detour to the lemon tree, picking one from the bottom branches.
The lemon doesn’t get used quite yet when you both enter into the stuffy cottage. You and Jeongguk reopen all the windows to let some fresh air in.
You eye the unopened wine bottle — the night’s gone too well to end like this. Lemon placed on the counter, it’s spared and unscathed for the time being as you pop off the cork.
Wordlessly, you pour and slide the glass over to a receptive Jeongguk.
One glass turns to three over the course of the night. The alcohol loosens the year’s worth of work tension, eyes blinking slowly as he swirls the glass around.
“Do you plan to stay with the company until retirement?” You ask.
“Depends.”
“On?”
“If I have to keep overseeing project leads who can’t make their deadlines.”
Had you both been less drunk and not seated on the high stools of this lovely cottage in Sicily, you’d be more offended. Eyes bemused and lips curved at your exaggerated gasp, Jeongguk brings the glass of wine to his mouth, red staining and deepening the natural shade of pink on his lips.
You’ll take this. It’s a development in comparison to what you’ve experienced in working with the company … not to mention the ride on the gondola. You like this Jeongguk. Where he isn’t going on a tangent about deliverables and Key Performance Indicators.
“What about you?” He asks.
You swallow the last of the wine in your glass. “I’m not sure.”
Honestly, you thought you’d be at another place of employment after your one year anniversary at the company. Yet, you’re still here.
“Huh.”
“What?”
“Answered like a person with one foot out the door.” He shrugs.
“I don’t mind the company.” You pout.
He rolls his eyes. “You’re young. There’s more out there.”
“You’re staying.”
“Never said I was.”
Wait … you hadn’t accounted for the fact of Jeongguk leaving one day. He has so much more years of experience than you, so having a promotion elsewhere would be a cake walk. One of your incentives to stay might disappear one day without warning and it frightens you.
“The benefits are nice.” You reason. “It’s worth staying for.”
“The benefits are standard. Hm.” He purses his lips. Then, an expression you’ve never once witnessed stretches across his face. “That hot manager Jihyo mentioned can’t be enough incentive to stay.”
“She’s lucky she’s my best friend.” You groan.
He laughs through his nose, “You’ll know if a company is worth staying for. Don’t be afraid to venture out.”
Friends and family have often told you to look for a higher paying job after every promotion — never concerned whether you’re content with where you’re at.
You find it hard to believe just a couple days ago, Jeongguk was grilling you for being a nepo-baby, and now he’s mentoring you over wine. You take in his words, letting them swirl in your mind before shaking away thoughts of the future.
“Thanks, I’ll keep that in mind.”
He nods, taking another small sip, “If only Seojun listened more like that. That brat.” He lowers his head with a fond smile, orbs glimmering like the wine glass caught in the light.
You should hold off from asking any overbearing questions and end tonight on a high note, but that just wasn’t your style.
“Do you not support their marriage?”
“It’s unfavorable.” He sighs. “I’m sure Jihyo’s nice—”
“She is.” You interrupt.
“But she’s reckless and so is my nephew. They didn’t think this through.” A pause. “Doing things out of love only gets you so far.”
If life wasn’t about love, then what could it possibly be about?
He chuckles and mumbles to himself, “She’s too much like her.”
“Huh? Who?” Your brows scrunch from the cryptic words, trying to decipher who he was referring to. Foolish of you to think he’d answer as he gets up and empties his glass of wine into the sink, eyes locked on the counter where the lemon resides.
You were going to ask if he’d like to use the lemon too; though, he beats you to your question when he tucks in the stool.
“Get some rest, we have a long day tomorrow.”
You exert all your energy into the lemon, squeezing and wringing out the halved fruit to distract you of the confusion. Have you pushed for too much? Were you out of line wanting to know more about Jeongguk? You hope the lingering thoughts of your cottage mate disappears with the garlic stench after a thorough soak.
After your shower, you take one last peek at his door and the light emitting from the small slit persists even through the late hours. Was he still working or also plagued with the thoughts of tonight’s conversation?
It’s a little past midnight when you emerge into the kitchen again to get a glass of water only to notice a slightly ajar front door.
101 Dumb Ways to Die would commend you and your efforts to close the door. Your fingers touch the doorknob, ready to twist and secure the locks.
You die a little inside when you spot a figure outside near the lemon tree.
Jeongguk.
He sits there, staring at his hands before he lifts one of them up to his face. A small sniff, then his hand falls onto his lap again.
You lean against a nearby wall, hand clutching the glass of water close to your chest.
He bends down from his seated position and grabs a fallen lemon, uncaring if it came from the top or the bottom branch. Suddenly, he stands up and makes his way back to the cottage again.
“Fuck!” You whisper yell, scrambling to go back to your room but your foot catches onto your other ankle and you’re sent flying to the floor with the glass of water held close to your chest to brace the fall and potential damage.
Aside from a wet shirt and the bruise forming on your knee, the glass was still intact. What wasn’t intact was your pride as Jeongguk opens the door to find you laying on your side.
His eyes widen, immediately crouching down to check your conditions. “Are you okay?”
You could fake an episode of sleepwalking and walk back to your room, wet shirt and all, but then you’ll be labeled as the colleague who sleepwalks.
“Oof,” You grab his extended hand, the one without the lemon, and pull yourself up to a sitting position. “Y-yeah, um, just wanted some water.” You peer down at the pool of water around you and flush harder.
He grabs a nearby cloth to clean up the mess and when he’s done, he holds his hand out again, “Can you stand?”
You nod, hand engulfed in his warmth as he tugs you up along with him. You walk stiffly next to him and thank him after he hands you a spare towel in the kitchen.
You should return to your room to nurse your broken pride; yet, your feet stay planted as Jeongguk gets out the cutting board.
“Oh, there’s still half a lemon in the fridge.”
Nodding, he retrieves the lemon and he squeezes the sliced half with ease. He dips his fingers in first, spreading the juice all over his hands and in between the crevices just as you did. You watch his fingers spread the juices all over the top of his veiny hands, light from the kitchen emulating the glisten on his skin.
A tingly sensation starts at your fingertips and you clench your fists tightly before it travels up your arms, unsure why your body is reacting at the simple act.
God, did you hit your head on something during the fall?
“You sure you’re okay?” He asks, breaking you out of your daze.
You blink, body automatically moving around to check for any soreness. High knees in place and a twist to your side, you confirm your health condition. You do one last stretch, intertwining your fingers and reaching up to the ceiling.
All’s well, so it seems.
Actually, no.
The action lifts your camisole, exposing the lower half of your stomach. Jeongguk’s gaze dips to your full hips and areas where the sun can’t fully reach.
“Yeah, all good.” You swallow, arms coming down and holding your hands behind your back.
Lights shut off, you and Jeongguk make your way back to your bedrooms, steps heavier as you near your door.
Suddenly, your hand reaches out, weak fingers wrapped around his wrist. He looks down at you with a raised brow, unmoving, so you tighten your grip around him.
“I saw you outside.” You confess, voice small and hesitant. “Are you okay?”
Jeongguk didn’t owe you an answer. But after all the time spent leading up to this moment, you think something should’ve changed by now.
His jaw clenches, eyes swirling with a mixture of uncertainty and discomfort as he considers the option of being honest.
He purses his lips and shakes his head no.
Be it your underdeveloped prefrontal lobe or your innate desire to fix a troubled man, your fingers tighten around his wrist.
“Is there something I can do–” The latter part of your question gets cut short at another shake of his head.
Your default solution is to deflect and lessen the embarrassment with cynicalism and a humorless laugh. “I know you hate me and all–”
He laughs, too — the dullness masking the irritability behind your unfinished statement.
“I don’t hate you.” He pauses and ponders his next words. “Whatever I’m going through right now has nothing to do with how I feel about you.”
Maybe … if you do make it about you, Jeongguk might forget about his bigger worries. The day has gone so well and all your effort’s about to be undone with what you do next. You step closer, gleaning at his reaction and any indication of his repulsion from your proximity.
“If we didn’t work at the same company, how would you feel about me then?” You ask.
His stare darkens. Pattern recognition from all the other fleeting moments in Italy only pushes you to do something you’d never have the courage to in a professional environment where you’d both break all code of conduct.
What happens in Italy, stays in Italy … right?
“We’d get along.” You answer for him.
“We’d be strangers.” He corrects. “I don’t need twenty year old friends listening to my problems.”
Good thing you’re not twenty and good thing you don’t want to be friends with Jeongguk. In the span of this conversation, you and Jeongguk now share the same air and warmth as you press your front to his hard chest. He doesn’t pull away from your softness whether it be through the silky camisole, your nature, or exposed skin … he lets himself soak in what you offer him.
And when you tip-toe closer to his face, he doesn’t move, allowing you to do as you like despite all signs in his head telling him to turn you away.
“We’d get along.” You repeat, eyes bold and hopeful as you stare into his hooded ones. “You’d let me help you forget about your problems.”
Cause you’d create new ones for Jeon Jeongguk as you press your lips to his.
The original hold you had on his wrist ceases as your nimble fingers find refuge on the ends of his cotton shirt. Your thighs tense from the vibrations of his small groan, the pleasure pangs intensifying when his hands cup your jaw. Lips soft and so rightfully slotted on yours, your eyes flutter shut and embrace the abundant hues of yellow and green similar to the villa’s lemon tree.
The crisp citrus scent from his fingers warms and melts you further into his lips. He parts his mouth slightly, and for a moment, just a moment … you hope he’d run his tongue on yours.
Your hope gets wringed out like the used lemons residing in the wastebin the exact moment he says your name and pulls away, chest moving in tandem with his strained breaths.
“This isn’t right.” He breathes, swallowing as he steps back to create some space between your bodies.
“I–”
“Goodnight.”
His door shuts, no different than how he shuts you out of the life you hoped to get a better glimpse of. Your fingers trace your lips, remembering how he felt against you before he took everything including your pride with him. You also shut your door, only bringing humiliation and rejection back in with you.
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You barely slept.
Instead, you chose to put in the extra work you needed to meet your deliverables for your client. You locked yourself in the bedroom — rather brave through the shitty internet connection until it was time to meet up with the rest of the bridal party who arrived last night.
“So,” Yebin starts, “I hear the best man is a hottie and you’re staying in the same cottage as him?”
You splutter into your drink, quickly grabbing the napkin on your lap to dab away the cascading liquid on your chin.
“Uh, wha–”
“Jihyo mentioned it in the group chat. What? Been too busy with him to catch up in the thread?” She wiggles her brows with a playful grin.
You push your body forward to give Jihyo a tiny glare. She sits prettily at the top of the table, the only person wearing white while the rest of you were in different variations of yellow to match the wedding theme.
“What?” She says with a mouthful. “He is objectively handsome. Not a surprise, I mean, look at my Seojun.”
“Isn’t he in his forties?” Another one of the girls asks.
“Thirty-seven.” Jihyo corrects. “We celebrated his birthday recently.”
“Basically forty.” Yebin retorts and turns back to you. “So what’s he like?”
You’re thankful for the soft breeze in the midst of Italy’s humid summer — helps you cool the sweat sitting uncomfortably on your skin, both from the rising afternoon temperatures and last night’s memories.
“He’s … fine.” You pause and try to come up with other adjectives to better describe him, ultimately coming short and resorting to a foolproof excuse. “We haven’t really spoken.”
“Oh, please. Aside from his nephew, Jeongguk’s more friendly with you than he has been to me.”
Yeah, ‘cause you also work in the same building as him forty hours a week for the past year, but no one here needs to know that. The conversation eventually shifts over to Jihyo’s wedding itinerary, makeup and hair plans, and what the other girls plan to do after the wedding dinner rehearsal. You enjoyed your time in the smaller group, but you also valued the community the other girls brought in this part of the trip. You visit the nearby boutiques, splurge on things you could most definitely find back at home, because … when were you going to be in Italy with your girls again?
“Remember, be there at 8 p.m. The venue’s gates close five minutes after.” Jihyo reminds.
“Yes, ma’am. Got it marked down in our calendars.” Yebin yawns, still slightly jetlagged and ready for a much needed nap after the day’s festivities. You and Jihyo drop off the girls at the front of their hotel and begin the walk back to the villa. Would’ve been quicker to take a cab, but Jihyo wanted to walk off her second gelato and you didn’t mind not being in the same vicinity as your cottage mate all that soon.
“You nervous for tomorrow?” You ask, steps slowing as you both near the villa.
“No,” she smiles fondly at a passing thought. “But I am anxious for the future. Don’t know how long it’ll be till my parents want to talk to me.”
You’ve thought about the times you’ve fought with your parents — nothing as big as marrying someone they didn’t approve of. Hopefully Jihyo’s parents will come around. Love, from a parent at least, should be unconditional.
She reads your thoughts with a chuckle and nudge to your shoulder. “Hey, I’m okay. It’s me and Seojun against the world.”
“They’ll come around.” You reassure. “You also have your friends too, so you’re never alone.”
⋆｡𖦹 ˚ 𓇼 ˚｡⋆
“And then, the maid of honor and best man will walk here.” Violetta, the wedding planner, points down the long stretch to the altar.
She looks over to the group, trying to single out the girl with that title since Jeongguk was the only male aside from the groom. You step out, having avoided Jeongguk all day with the wedding party, there are just some things you can’t avoid.
You avoid looking at the older man, keeping your stares locked on the wedding planner and aisle markings.
“Oh, to be maid of honor.” Yebin mumbles jokingly and the group of girls erupt into a small fit of giggles.
Jeongguk pays no mind and extends his arm for you to hold. Practice. Yes, this was still a rehearsal. You might’ve imagined his tense inhale as you press your body closer, breast pushing against his arm to see if the action could produce a similar sound or reaction.
Nothing.
After the rehearsal, you and Jeongguk still avoid each other like the plague, unwilling to address the elephant in the room. You try to sleep, tossing and turning all night until you made the executive decision for some much needed fresh air.
Part of you worries Jeongguk might also be outside, claiming the lemon tree as his area of respite. Can’t be his if you claimed it first. Unfortunately, the spot was occupied … not by him at least.
Pulling the metal chair, Seojun looks up, startled, but relaxes at the sight of a familiar face.
“Can’t sleep?” He asks.
“Yeah. Too stuffy in the cottage.” You lie, unwilling to admit the actual source of your unrest. “You?”
“Yeah.” He looks into the distance, worries swirling in his orbs. “I think my uncle’s right.”
Your brows pull together, head tilting in confusion.
“We’re too rash. Jihyo’s parents might never speak to her again and it’s all my fault. And I,” Seojun begins to crumble at the weight of his realization. “I don’t know if I’m enough for her to lose everything.”
You know more than anyone that there are some things money and power can’t buy. Jihyo wasn’t risking anything because Seojun was everything. Because if life wasn’t about love, then what was it about?
“You’re enough for Jihyo.”
“Uncle said–”
“Screw what Jeongguk thinks.” You interrupt, gasping at your sudden abrasiveness. “Wait, I don’t mean any offense to your uncle …”
His laugh could’ve woken up the entire villa, but you’re thankful to see this side of him in comparison to how he was a moment ago.
“No, no,” he chuckles, “I know he’s not the most likeable person.”
“He’s not … awful.”
Seojun nods, tilting his head down to conceal a tender smile you’ve witnessed whenever he was around Jihyo — now you understand those were reserved for his loved ones. “He used to be different … lighter, does that even make sense?”
You agree, waiting for Seojun’s next words.
“Uncle was fun.” You learn how Jeongguk would take little Seojun to the zoo every year because his mother would be too busy with work, along with the late night video game sessions he would partake in despite his busy university schedule.
“He was in his second year of university preparing to study abroad … I don’t know much, but something didn’t work out and another student was chosen instead of him. Mom worked hard so that she could support uncle and his dreams.”
“Worked too hard — damn workaholics.” His smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “I know he means well not wanting me to rush into things without a proper safety net.”
You think back to a younger Jeongguk navigating life alone with a young child … he couldn’t have been any older than you — a baby raising another baby with no one to turn to.
“Ah, I’m sorry,” Seojun shakes away some thoughts, “I didn’t mean to dump all of this on you. I’m sure you’re tired–”
“No, no,” You wave your hands. “I don’t mind. You’re marrying my best friend and whether her family or Jeongguk approves, it doesn’t matter. I’ve seen how happy you make her — how relaxed she is around you.” You offer a warm and comforting smile to which Seojun returns at the mention of your friend. “We’re both in this for Jihyo’s happiness. You deserve to be happy too.”
“Yeah, we do.” He replies, shoulders sagging in relief.
You linger outside a little longer after Seojun’s departure, begrudgingly going back into the cottage. Before entering your room, you take one look at Jeongguk’s room, noting the small sliver of light from underneath his door.
You think back to all the late nights waiting for your father’s lights to turn off … wondering when you’d be enough for his attention. And as you shut your door to your room, you hope that was enough to garner Jeongguk’s attention too.
⋆｡𖦹 ˚ 𓇼 ˚｡⋆
Jihyo loved everything about yellow. Loved the song by Coldplay and loved her flowers yellow — thinks she saw yellow when she met Seojun. Her bridesmaid dresses had to be yellow, as with everything in the wedding.
You see yellow everywhere too: the sand in the distance, wedding favors in the form of bagged perle di sole candies, and the boutonniere pinned on the left side of Jeongguk’s vest.
Yellow blurs around you during the ceremony, tearful gazes exchanged with the other bridesmaids.
Jihyo had always centered her world around her friendships — no man has ever been enough to pull her away from that value. Though, as she stands across from Seojun, her hands in his, it seemed as though nothing could’ve pried them apart from each other’s gravitational pulls. Your eyes peer over the wedding attendees, taking in their expectant stares and proud smiles — even Jeongguk seemed to have softened at the sight.
When it was time for the vows, you hand them over to Jihyo from behind, who took them without turning around, eyes still locked onto her soon-to-be husband.
She takes a steadying breath before speaking: “Seojun. These past years with you have been the happiest of my life. I could’ve never imagined meeting anyone like you. Now, I won’t call you my best friend, because that spot is taken and I think my lovely maid of honor might have some things to say about that–” The wedding party sounded a collective chuckle. You smile to yourself, eyes instinctively finding Jeongguk’s, who had already been looking your way in confirmation of your title.
“But I’m so happy to have found you, that I’m able to call you my friend, lover, and now, husband. I know a lot of people thought we were rushing into this, and they might be right. It is early, but I’ve never been as certain about anything as I am about wanting to spend the rest of my life with you. Seojun, you are the most wonderful and kindest person — better than I can ever hope to deserve, I love you.” Her voice had become increasingly more unstable as she went and she quickly wiped her eyes, not wanting to ruin her bridal make-up. Seojun wasn’t fairing any better, softly cupping her cheek and kissing her lips, whispering a small gratitude to her.
“Excuse me?” The officiant interrupts. “We’re not quite there yet.”
Laughing, the pair separates and refocuses their attention back to the ceremony. You turn to your fellow bridesmaids after hearing a quiet sniffle from Yebin. You carefully lean back into her, nudging her shoulder in comfort.
“Jihyo, you son of a bitch.” The girl mutters, dotting the corner of her eye with a tissue.
You chuckle, moving back into your position after assessing everyone’s conditions.
When you find the confidence to check on Jeongguk, he’s just as affected and politely turns away from the couple to hide his emotions.
At the wedding reception, you watch Jihyo and her husband dance to every song on their playlist, joined by their guests, eventually being the last ones standing as the night progresses. The ache on the soles of your feet grow by the hour, and you find yourself sitting alone, nursing your drink and watching your best friend soak in happiness.
Yellow persists in the form of strung lights on the small dance floor. Though, a new opponent, green, enters when you catch some wedding guests approaching an unsuspecting Jeongguk.
As the maid of honor, you should stay for the night even if it’s nearing 2 a.m. Selfishly, you can’t bring yourself to. You tell Jihyo you’re not feeling well and that you’re going to walk back to the cottage to rest. She looks at you with concern, but she nods and asks you to text her once you’ve made it back.
Ten steps out the venue, you hear some whistles and chuckles. Shit. You walk quicker and a slimy hand wraps around your wrist.
The men smile at you, saying something you can’t really decipher. If all fails after your persistent ignorance to the Italian language, your heels make an excellent weapon of defense.
“C'è un problema?” A familiar voice says in the distance.
Immediately, the man releases your wrist and holds his hands up. The group of men shuffles away, mumbling to themselves as they look back at your savior.
“You okay?” Jeongguk asks.
“Yep.” You answer quickly, steps resuming in the direction of the villa.
Jeongguk follows closely behind you, silent as he has been all night.
“Aren’t you supposed to stay with the bride? Maid of honor duties.”
“Aren’t you supposed to stay with the groom? Best man duties.” You retort with no malice.
“Touché.” He contemplates his next words. “I’ve got an early flight tomorrow.”
Your brows furrow, and an immature part of you assumes you’re the reason for his early departure. He quickly follows up with, “There’s a fire I have to put out at work.”
The bitter memories of your father leaving for work resurfaces again. Would it be so awful to not think about work and be with his loved ones?
You wave off those feelings and express your gratitude instead. “Thanks for helping me back there. You never mentioned knowing Italian.”
Would’ve come in handy during the ample times you all had to order food, but this was not the right moment to joke.
“Studied some basic phrases before going abroad. Didn’t end up in Italy though.”
You freeze a little, remembering the small detail Seojun mentioned the night before about Jeongguk’s missed opportunity.
Silence takes over and continues even as you both face your bedroom doors.
“Jeongguk.” You say, before he enters his room. “I hope what happened between us doesn’t impact our work. Please forget it happened — I’m truly ashamed and sorry.”
He nods, jaw clenched and tense.
“Have a safe flight home. See you in the office.” No other words are needed in your retreat back into your room.
The knot at the back of your neck strains and you can’t wait to finally shed your makeup, tight bun, and dress.
You [2:18 a.m.]: Made it to the cottage 💛
Bestie Ji [2:19 a.m.]: GOOD
Bestie Ji [2:19 a.m.]: JEONGGU SAI HES HEDIN TO COTT TO
Bestie Ji [2:19 a.m.]: ILY
Bestie Ji [2:19 a.m.]: im drun
You smile at your phone, typing a quick reply and before you hit enter, you hear a knock on your door.
Door swung open, your eyes widen at the sight of Jeongguk, tie loose around his neck and hair tussled as if he ruminated for an eternity before knocking your door.
“It’s been nice with you in Italy.” His arm from behind comes to the front with a small object. You remember it from your last day in Venice: the green masquerade mask. “Safe travels home.”
You take the little green mask in your hands, frown deepening at the sentiment.
“Why would you get this for me?” You ask.
His tongue probes against his cheek, eyes coming down to look at your figure in your yellow halter dress. The same fleeting stares you’ve grown accustomed to in the time spent in Italy, unaware these glances have always existed without your knowledge back at home. He laughs through his nose and shakes his head.
He brings his eyes back to your face. “You’re a smart girl, graduated with honors and all … so think a little harder for me.”
You shake your head, afraid of the aftermath of another wrong move that could jeopardize your heart.
“I don’t know if I can …”
Leaders take the initiative — you’re nowhere near that point in your career and life. Jeongguk recognizes this too, which is why he walks you backwards into the room. His fingers trace the intricate beadings on the mask still in your hands.
“Here, we’re just two people who met through the people we love. No roles or responsibilities. I only know you as Jihyo’s friend. You’re just … you, and I’m just Jeongguk.”
“And who are you, Jeongguk?” You place the mask onto a nearby dresser, eyes never leaving the man in front of you.
He looks down at you again, a type of stare only capable of burning and tainting every inch of your being. He’s afraid to admit who he really is — what he actually wants, knowing he can’t fully have even if it was ready for him to take. Though, with only a couple hours to spare in Italy, he wants to use what little time he has on an experience he would never let himself indulge in back at home.
It’s what vacations are meant for, right?
“Someone that wants your help. Someone that wants to finish what you started two nights ago.” He answers.
It doesn’t make sense with you — he doesn’t make sense with you just like when he leans down to press his lips on yours. The kiss is punishing, no colors of yellow like the kiss from two nights ago. Yellow is only meant for lovers and Jeongguk is no lover. Would be the only logical reason you’d now see black and blue — colors of old bruises and wounds left unattended for too long, and Jeongguk has far too many to count.
“Fuck,” He says in between kisses, shrugging off his vest, “Tell me to stop.”
You whimper, shaking your head and looping your arms over his neck to bring him closer. He pushes his tongue past your lips, savoring the way you moan around and suck on his wet muscle.
The only thing that makes sense is how your dress, the only yellow left, needs to come off. Your hands move behind your neck to undo the tight knot, letting the top fall down your front. Taking Jeongguk’s large hands, you take note of their softness, like sand — so malleable and so much harder to hold. You place them on your breasts instead.
He groans, the sound so painful and full of want to give into his desires.
“This can’t mean anything.” He says through a harsh breath. “You know that, right?”
“It’s okay.” You reply, moaning again as the pressure from his hands increases. “I’m … I’m okay with that.”
You’re not and Jeongguk knows this too. He’s aware of the subtle glances in the time he’s worked with you, your shift in demeanor when he enters a room, and how your eyes search for his approval when none was ever needed. He knows you won’t be okay with this just being a one night stand or quick fuck, but it has to be because you and Jeongguk don’t make sense.
Not under the dull fluorescent lights of the company building, not in Italy.
His teeth grazes your skin, leaving a trail of pain and pleasure behind its wake. You quiver and his body presses harder against yours in panic that if he leaves any space in between, the distance would only grow should he second-guess.
Dress bunched up at your midsection, he turns you away, eyes immediately landing where your mistake from your teenage years resided right above your pert ass.
Was this going to be another mistake too?
Your hands brace yourself on the dresser, arching from his hand tracing down your back and down your ass. He pauses and waits for your nod to proceed. Palm up, he runs his hand over the pathetic cloth you’d call your underwear now completely soaked through and scrunched to the side of your pussy.
He sucks in a breath, “Kissing gets you like this, hm?”
You shudder, praying he eventually moves. His middle finger probes gently at your sodden folds, gathering your arousal. He stays doing this for a couple minutes, listening to your soft sighs, wondering when you’d begin to beg for him to continue.
And when you don’t ask for more, it aggravates him realizing he’s the one who needs more out of something that’s supposed to be meaningless. As the older adult, he should be the gentleman with better restraint, but he’s here in your room seeking something he can’t find anywhere else:
A distraction from all the buried guilt and pain — for once, he wants to win.
He somehow gets you perched on the dresser, head between your thighs as he eats you out both as a punishment and reward. The bottom half of your dress hangs over the side of your hips, thighs spread wide open as Jeongguk thrusts his tongue into your cunt.
He knows this is just sex … worse that you’re a younger colleague whom he has vehemently denied his attractions for. But he’s here in Italy where he’s tasted olives, rinsed his memories of past loved ones with citrus … he should enjoy this trip — enjoy you. Because when was Jeongguk going to be in Italy again fucking you in a shared cottage?
“Jeong–fuck, m-yeah, right there.” You cheer, fingers carding through his hair.
Your encouragement only spurs him on to work harder, lapping over your swollen clit until you tense and cease all noise in concentration for the impending orgasm. It’s all over when you fight his hold and win the battle with your legs clamped tightly around his head. You cum with a small sob, thighs shaking around him as he continues to eat you out.
He replaces his tongue with two fingers, lazily pumping his digits in you while he kisses your lips with the taste of you still on his tongue. Meanwhile, you fumble clumsily with his buttons and zipper, jaded by how much you want him.
He’s just as eager, moaning and grinding his cock into your hand when you’ve finally freed him of his confinements.
Hoisting you in his arms, he brings you to the edge of your bed, groaning at how you automatically spread wider on the softer surface. So ready for him to do more with you until he realizes:
“Shit, I don’t have a condom.”
You hold yourself up with your forearms, legs still spread wide open for him despite his hesitance to move forward. His teeth sink onto his bottom lip, troubled dimples appearing as he stares at your glistening pussy clenching around nothing.
“I’m on birth control.” You assure and add, “You can pull out if you want.”
What’s another bad idea added into the pile?
He strokes over his length, squeezing harder at the tip and lines himself up. You whine and circle your hips from the hard poke at your entrance, arousal coating his bare cock. He doesn’t push himself in just yet, watching as a bead of precum smears at your opening … a silent territorial marking.
You’re his for tonight.
His thumb lands on your clit, rubbing it up and down. You keen, eyes shutting to concentrate on the added stimulation around the bundle of nerves.
“You’ve always been too rash on your decisions.” He pushes the tip of his cock into you, teeth biting the inside of his cheek. “Gotta work on that.” As if he’s not about to make an irrevocable mistake himself.
“High risk, high rewards … r-right?” You stammer through a shaky breath as he pushes more of him into you, uncaring that there’d been little to no prep. But that doesn’t matter, all your fantasies were coming true at this very moment and you’ll take whatever he gives you.
He gives you two more orgasms. One with your ankles by his ears. The other one where you lay on your side, memorizing the way his fingers dig into your skin as he pumps his thick shaft into you. You hike your knee closer to your chest to allow him to sink even deeper into you, hitting a specific spot repeatedly to burn figments of stars behind your lids.
The room’s hot and musty — didn’t help that neither of you remembered to air out the cottage upon arrival, but no one cared about that at the moment. Your sweat gathers behind your knees and drips down the slope of your thighs as Jeongguk continues fucking you into the mattress with an intense need.
“Gonna cum.” He announces, jaw going slack as his balls grow heavy with the need to release. “Fuck, I’m gonna cum.”
“Want you to cum for me.” You nod, and the slapping of his skin on yours grows as he moves quicker and harder.
You moan, brows scrunched in anticipation for Jeongguk to pull out and the feeling of being stuffed full by him will cease all together. And through your past experiences with other men, sex typically ends once they cum, so you ready yourself for the mirage to end — ready yourself to face reality again. Your lower half relaxes, waiting for him to turn your body so that he could unload everything on your stomach.
Two things happen.
He pushes deep inside you, stilling as he fills you with his arousal.
Hands soft as sand, cradle your jaw for a searing kiss to conceal words he shouldn’t utter to a colleague, let alone a direct report.
Minutes pass like this and you come to find out: sex doesn’t stop when Jeongguk finishes inside you.
He lays down next to you and hoists your body on top of his, movements swift in slipping his sensitive cock back into your cum-filled hole. He hisses, fighting through the overstimulation in acceptance of the punishment for all the terrible acts he’s committed with you. Again, both a punishment and a reward as he lets you ride him, watching the way your hips roll smoothly over his. Your mixed juices trail down his length and over his balls the more you move and bounce.
He doesn’t tell you to give him another orgasm, knowing you’re working hard to get there again.
“Don’t wanna stop. Wanna do this with you all night long.” Your breath hitches as the pleasure shifts into a type of pain no one can see. And no matter how you try to fight the physical effects of the hardest orgasm of your life, your body gives into the exhaustion and slumps over Jeongguk’s sweaty body.
In your slumber, you feel the sand, the breeze, and the absence of another human body. The next morning only proves your reality when you wake up clothed and sore from last night’s affair … with Jeongguk nowhere in sight.
You frown, tucking the sheets closer to your chin and watching the tree branches scrape against your opened window. The air in the room was no longer stuffy, ridding any evidence of what you and Jeongguk did.
Summers in Italy were magical.
Though, the fact stands: magic was nothing but illusions, deluding you from the truth. And you feigned indifference when Jihyo tells you Jeongguk had gone home for an important project — you ignored the hurt and betrayal. You had never been enough for your father to come home, so it was easy to turn a blind eye at the heaviness in your stomach from the thoughts of hoping you’d be enough to make Jeongguk stay.
Another couple of days in Italy go by with those illusions till the truth sets in the day you return to work.
A couple coworkers stop you on the way to your cubicle, asking you for a trip recap. Your debrief takes longer as intended — half due to wanting to avoid work and the other half as a result of your efforts to leave out key details of a certain someone.
You could’ve taken another path to your desk — one that kept you from the usual ajar door. Perhaps the magic followed you back home and you’ve alluded to think Jeongguk’s stares trail after your figure when you walked past his office.
The magical illusions continue as you settle into your cube, a bright yellow sticky note on your keyboard with a familiar handwriting reads: Lunch at Romano’s. - J
Even if the center of the candy happened to be sour, you have to see through it — you want to see through it.
fin.
a/n: missed me? cuz i’ve been missenU. ahh, ahh?? 🥹 i’ll see yall in about 1-2 months with something new! in the meantime, go send your well wishes to the bday girlie!! toodles ♡
also s/o to my bestie @takeitawaykenny for beta’ing!! love ya pookie
summary: trying to steal the gold necklace around his neck, you didn’t realize that the man you were stealing from was a high-ranking police officer.
warnings: officer jungkook x thief reader, explicit sexual content, dead dove, cnc/dub-con, gun play, belt choking, usage of handcuffs, primal play, free use/rape, public sex, heavy degradation, manhandling, daddy, dom jk, clit rubbing, spitting, mock sympathy, condescending dirty talk, cum eating, pussy eating, blow job, usage whore & slut, praising, multiple orgasms, manipulation, rough sex, overstimulation, fingering, cum eating penetrative sex, creampie.
⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂˚₊┈┈୨୧┈┈‧₊˚⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂
Desperation has a way of rewriting your morals. It convinces good people to cross lines they once swore they would never touch, somehow making it feel like the only choice left.
"Let's check out the beer house tonight." Hanni said, wiggling her eyebrows as she leaned against the kitchen counter. "I heard it's packed with rich people on Fridays."
Your brows knitted together. "A beer house?"
A knowing smirk tugged at Hanni's lips. She swept 1her dark hair into a messy bun before pulling out the chair beside the table, giving the seat a light tap as she gestured for you to sit.
The moment you settled across from her, she propped her elbows on the table and leaned in…There was a familiar gleam in her eyes—the kind that only appeared whenever she had a new scheme brewing.
"It's one of the most popular beer houses in the city," she explained. "The drinks alone cost more than what we spend on groceries in a week. People who go there don't think twice before throwing money around, which means they're exactly the kind of people we're looking for."
You couldn't help but picture it.
Crowded tables, loud music and half-empty bottles scattered across polished wooden counters. Men laughing far too loudly, their faces flushed from alcohol, expensive watches gleaming beneath the dim lights while thick leather wallets bulged inside the pockets of tailored trousers.
You frowned, unease settling in your chest.
"I'm pretty sure it'll be full of drunk old men, Hanni." you rested your chin against your palm. “Doesn't that sound a little... dangerous?”
Hanni dismissed the concern with a careless wave of her hand.
"They'll be too wasted to notice us," she said with a shrug. "Besides, those are the guys with money. A few missing bills won't even cross their minds."
She leaned even closer, lowering her voice as though she were about to reveal the greatest secret in the world.
"Just give them a sweet smile," she said, the corners of her lips curling into something dangerously playful. "Make them think you've taken an interest in them. Laugh at their terrible jokes, let them believe they're charming..."
She snapped her fingers between the two of you. "And before they even realize what's happening, you've already walked away with their wallet—or better yet, their credit cards."
A life built on stolen fortunes, calculated manipulation, and carefully crafted deception.
The words no longer sting the way they used to. They've become as familiar as your own name, each one another thread woven into the person you've become. What once filled you with guilt now slips through your fingers as though it was never yours to carry.
Perhaps that's what desperation does.
It doesn't ask you to become someone else. It simply teaches you how to live with the stranger you've become.
Earlier that evening, you and Hanni gathered everything you had stolen throughout the month, laying each piece across the small wooden table between you.
"We only gathered six hundred dollars this month, Y/N... This won't be enough."
A phone, a handful of jewelry, two wallets, and a watch clattered against the worn wood before settling into a messy pile.
"This won't cover this month's rent..." she let out a weary sigh, her manicured nails tapping absentmindedly against the tabletop as she stared at the stolen valuables and the few crumpled bills scattered between them. "And we still have enrollment next month."
Your lips fell into a pout. "But the jewelry I stole is real gold."
You reached for the bracelet, turning it beneath the light. The polished links gleamed against your fingers.
Hanni only sighed again, the exhaustion in her expression deepening.
"It's low-karat gold, Y/N. And there's barely enough of it to be worth anything." she rubbed her temple before glancing at the rest of the pile. "If you manage to steal more next time, maybe we'll actually get something decent for it."
You looked back down at the bracelet, the weight of her words settling heavier than the gold resting in your palm.
You weren't born into wealth…from kindergarten until the day you graduated high school, scholarships carried you through your education. Without them, you doubted you would've made it that far.
College was different.
Moving out had seemed like the responsible decision at the time. Renting a small apartment near the university was cheaper than spending money on transportation every day between your hometown and campus, and you couldn't bring yourself to ask your parents for more than they were already giving.
So you packed your clothes into two worn-out bags, hugged your mother goodbye, listened to your father's endless reminders to eat properly, and promised them you would be fine.
Your father spent his days baking homemade bread before the sun had fully risen, while your mother worked quietly as a bookkeeper, carefully balancing numbers that never seemed to balance in your own household. Together, they earned just enough to keep food on the table and a roof over your heads.
Needs always came first.
Wants became something you learned to admire from a distance.
Yet, strangely enough, you never felt deprived.
Your home was small, tucked away in a quiet neighborhood where everybody knew everybody, but it was always filled with warmth.
While your classmates spoke about family vacations abroad, arrived at school carrying luxury handbags, and replaced perfectly good shoes simply because a newer pair had been released, you found comfort in simpler things.
The smell of freshly baked bread lingering in the kitchen before sunrise. The sound of your father humming while kneading dough. Your mother's gentle voice reminding you not to skip breakfast, even when she knew you were running late.
You loved that life.
More importantly, you loved the people who gave it to you.
Which was why, when college came, you couldn't bear the thought of asking them for more. Every dollar they handed you felt heavier than the last, weighted by sacrifices they never spoke about but could never hide.
You watched your father work longer hours. You noticed your mother's tired eyes after another day spent staring at ledgers and receipts. They never complained…not once—but love has a way of revealing exhaustion long before words ever do.
So you promised yourself that you would become lighter.
You moved out. You searched for part-time jobs. You told yourself that no matter how difficult life became, you would survive without asking your parents to carry you any farther.
You really believed honest work would be enough.
Finding a cheap apartment hadn't been easy, and if there was one stroke of luck you could still thank the universe for, it was meeting Hanni.
You found her through a post looking for a roommate. She needed someone to split the rent, and you needed somewhere you could actually afford.
The apartment sat only a few minutes away from the university, saving you the transportation costs you had spent countless nights calculating over and over again.
Hanni turned out to be easier to live with than you expected. She wasn't the type to spend recklessly or chase after things she didn't need. Like you, she stretched every dollar until there was nothing left to stretch.
For the first few months, you lived off your savings.
Each rent payment made the envelope thinner. Each grocery trip reminded you that numbers disappeared far quicker than they were earned. You searched for work every chance you got, walking into cafés, convenience stores, restaurants—any place with a "Now Hiring" sign taped to the window.
When a fast-food restaurant finally hired you as a server, you thought things were finally looking up.
You couldn't remember the last time you had been so relieved. The excitement, however, didn't last very long.
The paycheck barely reached your hands before it already belonged somewhere else. Half disappeared into rent. Another portion went to groceries, transportation, and the endless expenses college quietly demanded.
Scholarships covered your tuition, but not everything else. There were laboratory fees, books that professors insisted were mandatory, printed materials, projects, uniforms, and countless little payments that no one ever warned you about.
The money came in. It left even faster.
And no matter how carefully you budgeted every cent, by the end of each month, you always found yourself staring at the same conclusion.
It still wasn't enough.
Hanni, however, never seemed to struggle the way you did.
For reasons she never fully explained, she always had money tucked away somewhere. Not enough to live lavishly, but enough to ease the constant pressure that settled on your shoulders every time rent was due.
Naturally, you asked where all that money came from. Hanni would only shrug, a small smile tugging at the corner of her lips as though the answer amused her.
"I have a lot of sidelines," she'd say, never bothering to explain any further.
It was vague enough to end the conversation, yet suspicious enough to keep your curiosity alive.
Eventually, you stopped asking…but you never stopped noticing.
One afternoon she'd come home carrying the newest phone model, casually placing it on the kitchen counter while she searched the refrigerator for something to eat.
The following day, it would already be gone.
Sometimes it was a watch. Other times it was a gold necklace or a designer wallet. The items constantly changed, disappearing almost as quickly as they appeared, but you never questioned her.
It wasn't until the two of you had grown close enough that she finally trusted you with the truth.
You remembered expecting disgust to settle in your stomach the moment she confessed. Instead, all you felt was curiosity.
Hanni told her story so casually, as though she were recalling an ordinary childhood memory instead of admitting to a crime.
She learned how to steal when she was still a little girl. Whenever she picked up a toy at a store or tore open a packet of snacks while trailing beside her mother, no one questioned her. People rarely suspected children, and Hanni learned that long before she understood the weight of what she was doing.
What started as childish curiosity slowly became instinct. Instinct became skill, skill became confidence, and confidence eventually became survival.
By the time she reached adulthood, stealing was no longer something she occasionally did—it was simply how she made a living.
She wasn't born into comfort either. Her family had struggled just as much as yours, if not more, and perhaps that was why you found it difficult to judge her.
You knew what it felt like to lie awake at night wondering how another month would pass.
You knew what desperation looked like because you had seen it reflected in your parents' exhausted smiles, hidden behind reassuring words they never truly meant. Maybe that was why her confession never horrified you.
Desperation has a peculiar way of changing people.
Because somewhere deep inside, in a place you refused to acknowledge, you understood exactly why she had chosen this path.
"You should blend in. Don't wear those ridiculous jackets or black caps." Hanni chuckled, uncapping the marker in her hand before turning to the small whiteboard hanging beside the refrigerator.
She drew little stick figures and arrows as if she were giving a university lecture instead of teaching you how to commit crimes. There were circles around the words confidence, timing, and exit, each one underlined twice before she tapped the marker against the board.
It sounded embarrassingly simple…but it wasn’t.
Your first theft had been nothing more than a granola bar from a convenience store, yet your hands had trembled so violently you almost dropped it before reaching the exit. Your heart pounded against your ribs with enough force to convince you everyone around could hear it.
Every customer who glanced in your direction felt like security in disguise, every beep from the cashier sounded like an alarm, and by the time the automatic doors slid open behind you, your palms were slick with sweat around the tiny snack bar you had risked so much to steal.
Hanni, meanwhile…walked out carrying a bottle of wine, two bags of cheetos, and three packs of mini m&m's tucked somewhere beneath her oversized cardigan. She looked utterly unbothered, stopping only to ask whether you wanted to eat at the nearby park before either of you went home.
You remembered staring at her with your mouth slightly open, unable to understand how someone could steal so much and still have the composure to worry about dinner.
She only laughed. "It gets easier."
You hated how right she was.
Over the following weeks, your trembling hands gradually learned to stay still. You learned that people rarely questioned someone who acted like they belonged.
Confidence, Hanni often said, was the greatest disguise anyone could wear, and manipulation was nothing more than convincing people to believe the version of you that benefited them most.
You practiced smiling at strangers. You practiced maintaining eye contact. You practiced walking away without looking back.
Little by little, it became easier to silence the guilt.
Two months later, you could finally say you were improving. Your movements were steadier, your excuses more believable, your lies smoother than they had ever been before.
Even so, whenever you compared yourself to Hanni, you still felt like an amateur watching a professional at work. She stole with an ease you doubted you would ever possess.
"Hanni, I'm not good at seducing people... you know that." you let out a groan, dropping your forehead onto the table with a dull thud.
For all the confidence you had slowly learned to fake while stealing, anything involving men was an entirely different story.
You have no experience.
Your thefts still involved people, but you always kept your distance…especially from men. You waited for moments of carelessness, slipping valuables from unattended bags, distracted shoppers, or pockets left carelessly exposed before disappearing into the crowd.
It was safer that way. The rewards were smaller, perhaps, but it meant you never had to charm, distract, or make someone lower their guard just to steal from them.
After all, you were still an amateur.
Romance had always seemed like a luxury you couldn't afford.
While your classmates spent their weekends going on dates or gossiping about their newest crushes, you spent yours calculating expenses and wondering whether instant noodles could count as dinner for the fourth night in a row.
Hanni had pointed it out countless times before.
According to her, manipulating people wasn't always about lying.
With men, it was about making them believe they had a chance with you.
The problem was…you had no idea how to do that.
You didn't know how to flirt, how to bat your eyelashes, or how to laugh at someone's terrible jokes without making it painfully obvious you were pretending. The thought alone made your stomach twist into nervous knots.
Hanni rolled her eyes, dismissing every excuse before you even had the chance to finish making one.
"Oh, stop it." she waved a hand dramatically. "You're very pretty, Y/N. Don't give me that bullshit! Just smile at them…one cute little smile and I guarantee they'll be tripping over themselves to impress you."
You buried your face deeper into your arms."But, Hanni—"
"No buts." she sprang to her feet before you could protest again, practically skipping toward her bedroom. A moment later, she returned with two shopping bags swinging from her hands, the grin on her face growing impossibly wider.
"Besides, I already bought us dresses for tonight." she giggled.
Oh, you were doomed.
"This is so short," you complained, tugging at the hem of the black spaghetti-strap dress for what had to be the tenth time. Every time you managed to pull it down another inch, it simply rode back up the moment you took another step, as though the fabric itself was determined to embarrass you.
Hanni had insisted on doing everything herself. Your hair fell in loose, natural waves over your shoulders, soft enough to hide the nervous rise and fall of your breathing. She had done your makeup too, dusting the slightest touch of glitter across your eyelids that shimmered every time the streetlights caught your face.
Even before you reached your destination, your feet were already protesting against the thin, strappy heels wrapped around your ankles, each step reminding you that beauty demanded sacrifices you had never volunteered to make.
Hanni glanced at you before letting out an amused laugh. "I can't see your panties from here, so you're fine."
You shot her an unamused look, earning another laugh from her.
Unlike you, Hanni looked completely at ease.
Her dark green off-the-shoulder dress hugged her figure effortlessly, paired with matching heels that clicked confidently against the pavement. Her hair was swept into a messy updo that somehow looked intentionally elegant rather than rushed, and with the confidence she carried herself, no one would ever guess that the two of you struggled to pay rent every month.
Together, you looked exactly like the kind of girls who had never worried about money a day in their lives.
Which was almost funny.
Because hidden beneath expensive-looking dresses and carefully applied makeup were two women desperately hoping to walk away with someone else's wallet, watch, jewelry—or anything valuable enough to buy another month of survival.
"Okay, let's order a drink first and look around," Hanni said, her voice barely audible beneath the chatter spilling out from inside the beer house as she pushed the heavy wooden door open.
You followed closely behind, your heartbeat already beginning to pick up.
You had spent the entire walk convincing yourself that the place would be filled with loud, drunken old men slumped over tables, too intoxicated to notice a missing wallet or an expensive watch. Instead, your expectations dissolved the moment your eyes adjusted to the dim amber lights.
The place was crowded…not just with old men, but with all kinds of people. Groups of friends occupied long wooden tables, raising glasses every time the football match playing on the massive television reached an exciting moment. Couples sat tucked away in quieter corners, talking over bottles of beer, while businessmen who looked as though they had come straight from the office loosened their ties and laughed with colleagues over overflowing pitchers.
Your gaze drifted toward the long wooden bar stretching across one side of the room, shelves behind it neatly lined with bottles you had only ever seen locked behind glass displays. The smell of grilled meat and fried food lingered in the air, mixing with the bitter scent of beer, while a small band adjusted their instruments on the stage, preparing for the night ahead.
You quietly took a deep breath, trying to calm the nervous flutter building inside your chest.
You had been stealing for two months now, yet every new place made you feel like it was your first all over again. The fear of getting caught never truly disappeared—it only learned how to hide beneath your smile.
Hanni walked through the crowd without a hint of hesitation, weaving between tables before claiming two empty seats near the stage. When the server approached, she greeted him with an easy smile, the kind that belonged to someone who had come for nothing more than a quiet drink after a long week.
"Two draft beers, please."
The server nodded before disappearing toward the counter.
Hanni waited until he was out of earshot before her eyes swept across the room once more, lingering only for a second before the corner of her lips slowly lifted.
"I found your table." Hanni raised a brow, the corner of her lips curling into a knowing smile.
You pouted, instinctively following her gaze as your eyes wandered across the crowded beer house. Round wooden tables filled nearly every corner, occupied by groups of men laughing over clinking bottles, scattered glasses, and the remnants of another round.
Of course she'd choose men. You had long grown used to Hanni's reasoning.
Men were easier to distract…and according to her, far easier to manipulate than women.
"Which one?" you asked, squinting as you searched through the sea of unfamiliar faces.
Hanni let out a quiet laugh before leaning closer, her perfume briefly overpowering the scent of beer lingering in the air. "The third table near the bar," she whispered, careful not to draw attention. "They look a little older than us. Not too old, though."
She grinned mischievously. "I'd say they're giving daddy vibes."
You frowned at her. “Ugh, Hanni!”
Slowly, your gaze followed the direction she had subtly pointed, finally landing on the group she had been watching.
There were seven of them gathered around one of the larger tables, completely absorbed in their own conversation. They couldn't have been much older than Hanni had guessed, perhaps somewhere in their late twenties or early thirties.
Dressed in simple shirts, rugged jeans, and jackets carelessly draped over the backs of their chairs, they looked more like friends unwinding after a long week than the wealthy businessmen you had imagined on your walk there.
At first glance, there was nothing remarkable about them. Yet the longer you watched, the easier it became to notice the details.
A watch that caught the light every time one of them lifted his beer. A phone left face-up beside an overflowing ashtray without a second thought. Car keys, wallets, and cigarette packs lay scattered across the wooden table between bottles of beer and half-finished baskets of bar snacks, abandoned in the comfort of good company.
They laughed loudly, occasionally teasing one another, while wisps of cigarette smoke curled lazily into the air above them. They were so engrossed in their own little world that they never once looked your way.
"What do you think?" Hanni asked, her eyes never leaving the group near the bar."I say you target that table while I take the one near the door."
Your gaze lingered on the men for another moment before dropping to the table between you. Almost as if on cue, the server returned with your drinks, carefully placing two glasses of draft beer in front of you. Tiny bubbles rushed to the surface beneath a thick layer of foam, the chilled glass immediately collecting beads of condensation.
Hanni thanked him with a smile before wrapping her fingers around her glass. She looked... excited. There was always a certain spark in her eyes before a job, one you had grown familiar with over the past two months.
While your stomach twisted itself into knots, hers seemed to settle. The closer she came to danger, the calmer she became.
Your fingers traced the condensation gathering around your own glass as you quietly stared into the golden beer. The thought of walking up to a table full of strangers, pretending to be interested in one of them, was enough to make your stomach tighten.
You had spent the last two months learning how to steal, how to lie without stumbling over your words, how to smile convincingly enough for people to lower their guard.
But flirting? That was something entirely different.
Still...
You glanced down at the dress hugging your figure before absentmindedly smoothing the fabric over your thighs. Hanni had spent her own money buying it for you. She had curled your hair, done your makeup, and patiently convinced you that you looked like you belonged in a place like this. She had done everything she could to make tonight successful.
The least you could do was try.
The numbers flashed through your mind before you could stop them, reminding you how little time you had left before another payment was due.
You drew in a slow breath before finally looking back at Hanni, offering her a small smile that carried far more determination than confidence.
"Alright," you said with determination. "I promise I'll do my best."
Her face immediately brightened. "That's my girl!"
She lifted her glass toward yours with a grin so wide it was almost contagious.
"Cheers to that, baby."
The soft clink echoed between you, disappearing almost instantly beneath the laughter, music, and the constant hum of conversations filling the beer house.
Easy…smile, flirt and steal.
After a couple of minutes spent nursing your drinks and quietly familiarizing yourselves with the beer house, Hanni caught your eye from across the table. She gave the slightest nod—a silent signal the two of you had long grown accustomed to.
It was time.
You rose from your seat, smoothing the wrinkles from your dress before letting your fingers comb through your hair, tucking a few loose strands behind your ear. Hanni disappeared into the crowd without another word, already making her way toward her own target, while you headed in the opposite direction, forcing yourself to wear the kind of smile she had spent weeks teaching you. Soft enough to seem approachable…confident enough to belong.
The barstool closest to their table sat empty.
You slipped onto it, offering the bartender a polite smile as he passed by before pretending to study the rows of bottles displayed behind the counter. From the corner of your eye, your attention never truly left the table behind you.
Your heartbeat steadied, not because you were any less nervous…but because your mind had finally begun doing what Hanni had trained it to do.
Observe.
A few wallets lay carelessly on the wooden table, abandoned without a second thought by men too engrossed in conversation to notice their surroundings. Your fingers twitched ever so slightly.
Tonight, maybe two wallets would be enough. Any more than that would only invite unnecessary attention.
Your gaze lingered for another second before drifting higher, carefully studying each of the men one by one.
If you were going to approach someone tonight, it couldn't be just anyone. You needed the one who looked the wealthiest, the one whose watch alone could cover next month's rent, whose jewelry might be worth more than everything you and Hanni had managed to steal over the past few months combined.
You couldn't flirt with all of them. So if you were going to take the risk, you might as well choose the wealthiest one.
Your eyes drifted from one man to another, careful not to linger for too long.
One wore a pair of silver earrings that matched the chain resting against his chest. Another—the one with dimples that appeared every time he laughed—had an elegant silver watch wrapped around his wrist, the polished metal glimmering beneath the warm lights whenever he reached for his beer. The man beside him looked much simpler, dressed in an ordinary black shirt without a single piece of jewelry to catch your attention, and you dismissed him almost immediately.
You kept looking.
Until your gaze landed on a tattooed hand lazily wrapped around the neck of a beer bottle.
Silver rings adorned nearly every finger, each one different from the next, and just above them rested a watch that looked far too expensive to belong in your world. Your eyes followed the slow movement of his hand as he lifted the bottle to his lips, only to notice the gold chain disappearing beneath the collar of his dark shirt.
His ear was adorned with several silver earrings, each one catching the amber light whenever he turned toward one of his friends. When he tilted his head back for another sip, the small silver ring through his lower lip glinted just as brightly.
Then your gaze wandered lower…a pair of Porsche keys hung carelessly from the belt loop of his black jeans, swinging gently whenever he shifted in his seat as though they were nothing more than an ordinary keychain.
You quietly looked away before he could catch you staring, your heartbeat quickening as your fingers curled around the wooden counter.
Target locked.
You immediately order a shot of tequila, not to get drunk, but to act drunk.
Hanni had told you that people lowered their guard around someone who seemed tipsy. A little laugh that lingered too long, a gaze that wandered a little too often, movements just clumsy enough to look believable. It made approaching strangers easier.
You thanked the bartender with a polite smile before resting your elbow against the counter. From the corner of your eye, your attention drifted back to the table.
His back was mostly facing you, making it difficult to study him without being obvious. Every now and then he'd turn toward one of his friends, giving you a brief glimpse of his side profile before looking away again, and somehow those fleeting seconds were enough for you to notice far more than you intended.
His jaw was clean and sharply defined, catching the amber glow whenever he tipped his head back to drink. A straight nose balanced his features effortlessly, while soft strands of dark hair fell across his forehead, shifting every time he ran a hand through them. Every so often, you caught sight of his dark round eyes, softened by the alcohol he'd been drinking, their usual alertness replaced by a lazy heaviness that made them unexpectedly... pretty.
Your brows knitted together.
You were supposed to be memorizing his belongings Y/N! Not his face!
The bartender slid your tequila across the counter. You murmured a quiet thank you before lifting the glass to your lips, taking only a small sip. The burn barely had time to settle in your throat before your eyes sneakily wandered back toward the table.
"Huh?"
His seat was empty!
Your brows furrowed as your eyes searched the group, confusion replacing the confidence you had spent the last several minutes trying so hard to build.
"Looking for me?” a deep chuckle sounded from behind you.
Your eyes widened, you turned so quickly you nearly knocked your drink over.
Even with you sitting down, he towered over you with ease, one side of his body leaning casually against the polished wooden counter. Up close, the details you had only managed to steal glances of moments ago became impossible to ignore—the silver rings decorating his fingers, the tattoos stretching over his right arm, the small hoop piercing his lower lip, and those heavy-lidded eyes now looking directly into yours.
The corner of his mouth curled upward…amused.
As though he'd caught you doing something you weren't supposed to.
"H-Hi!" you greeted, your voice coming out much smaller than you intended as you struggled to hide how badly he had startled you.
What the fuck.
For a split second, every lesson Hanni had drilled into your head disappeared. Your carefully rehearsed smile, your excuses, the confident persona you had spent two months trying to build—they all vanished the moment he caught you off guard.
He raised a brow, the corner of his mouth lifting ever so slightly.
"May I help you?"
Your own brows drew together before you could stop them, your smile faltering for the briefest moment.
"Hm?"
"You kept looking at me." he chuckled, low and amused.
There wasn't even a hint of uncertainty in his voice, as though he'd caught you staring several times already and had simply decided to humor you instead of calling you out for it.
Heat rushed to your cheeks almost instantly, your mind scrambling for something—anything…that would keep your act from falling apart before it had even begun.
Trying to save yourself, you immediately gave him a flirty smile.
"Oh..." a soft giggle escaped your lips, "Was I that obvious?"
You tilted your head ever so slightly, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear before looking back up at him through your lashes exactly the way Hanni had told you to.
When he took a step closer, your breath hitched.
His thick black boots brushed against the legs of your stool, and with the way he positioned himself, his broad frame nearly shielded you from the rest of the room. It wasn't intentional…or maybe it was—but suddenly the chatter of the beer house seemed much farther away than it had a second ago.
"Uh-huh," he murmured, the single sound barely above a whisper.
The faint scent of mint lingered beneath the beer on his breath, close enough to make your thoughts blur for a moment. Up close, the gold chain resting against his collarbone shimmered softly, layered alongside several silver necklaces that framed the base of his neck.
Before your courage had the chance to abandon you…you slowly lifted a hand and rested it around the back of his neck, your fingertips grazing the cool metal chains lying against his skin.
"You're cute," you whispered, biting lightly on your lower lip as your fingers idly toyed with one of the necklaces. Every movement had been rehearsed in your head a dozen times before tonight, yet none of them felt natural now that they were happening. You only hoped he couldn't tell.
Fuck, he’s so handsome up close!
His head tilted slightly, curiosity flickering across his face before his gaze slowly drifted downward. It lingered far longer than you were prepared for, tracing the exposed skin above your dress before continuing lower. Instinctively, you fought the urge to tug at the hem that had ridden higher on your thighs.
Don't. Fake it until you make it.
"I am?" he asked, the corner of his mouth lifting into the faintest smirk. His tongue swept across the silver ring piercing his lower lip before he leaned even closer, his lips hovering just beneath your ear.
"Yeah," you breathed, forcing confidence into your voice despite the frantic beating of your heart. "Want you."
The words felt foreign leaving your mouth. Still, they had the desired effect.
As his attention remained fixed on the spot where your pulse fluttered, your fingers subtly found the clasp hidden beneath the chains around his neck.
One careful movement...that was all it would take.
You had barely begun to unhook it when his hand closed firmly around your wrist.
Your heart stopped. For one horrifying second, you were certain he'd caught you.
"Let's go to my car."
What?
"H-Huh? I..."
He lifted his head just enough for your eyes to meet his. The lazy amusement from earlier had disappeared, replaced by something darker.
"I can't fuck you here."
Your eyes widen, fucking was your limit!
Your gaze drifted to the thick gold necklace resting against his chest... the leather wallet tucked carelessly into his pocket... and the sleek black car waiting only a few steps away.
Fuck it.
You followed him in silence, the cool night breeze brushing against your exposed skin and reminding you just how short your dress was.
Your gaze remained fixed on his broad back as he unlocked the car, your throat tightening around a nervous swallow.
Earlier, when you had walked past Hanni, you had nearly burst into tears at the sight of her giving you an approving nod, silently cheering you on while she remained at her table, busy charming the men around her.
You couldn't back out now. Not after she'd placed this much faith in you.
The parking lot was quiet, a little farther from the beer house…the music fading into the distance. When he turned around, you gathered every ounce of courage you had left and greeted him with the sweetest smile you could muster.
Your mind raced, thoughts crashing into one another until only three remained.
First, find a way to slip the gold chain from around his neck. The wallet would come next, once he finally let his guard down.
Second, you were not going to fuck him.
It didn't matter how broad his shoulders were, how unfairly handsome he looked, or how pretty his eyes became whenever he smiled.
Your hormones could cry about it later.
Third, whatever happened tonight... for the love of God, do not get caught.
He looked down at you, one brow lifting ever so slightly when he noticed the faint tremble in your legs.
"Get in."
He pulled the backseat door open for you, and you offered him a small, flirty smile before carefully slipping inside.
The leather seat gave beneath your weight with a quiet creak, and for the briefest moment, you convinced yourself you'd have a second to steady your breathing, to gather the scattered pieces of your thoughts before facing him again.
The hope didn't last.
The car shifted as he climbed in after you, the door clicking shut behind him with a soft, final sound that seemed to swallow the last bit of space inside the cabin.
Your pulse faltered, the hem of your dress had ridden higher than you'd intended, exposing far more of your thighs than you were comfortable with, the fabric inching dangerously close to revealing the lace of your panties. Every instinct urged you to smooth it back into place, but you stopped yourself.
Focus, Y/N! You need to seduce him!
You had barely opened your mouth, ready to deliver one of the corniest pickup lines Hanni had relentlessly drilled into your head, when his hand suddenly pulled your hair.
Your lips parted in surprise as he tugged you toward him, leaving no room for hesitation before his lips crashed against yours.
A breathless whimper escaped you, your eyes widening for only a second before they fluttered shut. His fingers tightened around the hair above your nape, angling your head exactly how he wanted it, his kisses deep, hungry, and impatient.
The bitter trace of beer lingered on his tongue, flooding your senses until your thoughts blurred at the edges. Your body yielded without resistance, melting effortlessly against his as he drew you closer, the strength behind the movement making you feel almost weightless in his hold.
For a fleeting moment, you forgot your mission.
His tongue slipped against yours with practiced ease, stealing every coherent thought from your mind before instinct finally caught up.
You slowly lifted your arms around his neck, your fingers threading through the softness of his hair as though simply indulging in the kiss. Then, careful not to rush…they drifted lower, brushing over the warm skin of his nape before gliding toward the necklace resting against his neck.
“Open your mouth wider,” he rasped, pulling away just enough to speak. A string of saliva stretched between your mouths as his other hand slid around your neck…his long, tattooed fingers wrapping firmly around your throat in a possessive grip.
Your eyes widened…one of your hands remained tangled behind his nape, your fingers still toying with the chain around his neck, desperately searching for the tiny clasp hidden beneath his hair.
Too distracted to obey his request… he suddenly tugged your hair harder.
A startled gasp escaped your lips, and he seized the opportunity—his tongue slipping hot and messy into your parted mouth, kissing you with a hunger that left you no chance to catch your breath.
You barely kissed him back, surrendering to the pace he set as your mind gradually emptied. Somehow, through the dizziness clouding your head, your fingertips continued their quiet search along the cool metal resting against his skin, praying to find the clasp before he noticed.
“Mmph!”
A soft whimper caught in your throat when he bit down harshly on your lower lip. The hand around your neck tightened, his fingers pressing deeper into your throat until your breath hitched, the pressure almost choking you.
“What are you doing?” he groaned, pulling you away from his lips before effortlessly lifting your entire body onto his lap.
Large hands settled on your hips, guiding your legs to either side of him until you were straddling him completely, your dress riding embarrassingly higher over your thighs in the process.
“Hmm?” you murmured, blinking up at him through hazy eyes, your lips swollen and glistening from his relentless kisses.
He tilted his head, studying you in silence.
The intensity of his gaze made something tighten inside your chest. Your confidence, already hanging by a thread, began to unravel beneath his eyes alone, and without thinking, your hands abandoned the necklace altogether, drifting back into his hair as though that had been your intention from the very beginning.
“Kiss me back,” he rasped.
A quiet breath of relief nearly escaped your lips. He hadn't noticed.
You offered him the sweetest smile you could manage before leaning in again, your heart pounding so violently you were certain he could feel it through your chest. You kissed him as carefully as you could, trying to mimic the way he'd kissed you only moments ago, parting his lips with hesitant eagerness, hoping it looked natural enough to fool him.
To your surprise, he let you…he didn't take control or deepen the kiss. Instead, he simply let you explore him at your own pace.
Heat crept up your neck and settled across your cheeks, embarrassment blooming beneath your skin as the realization slowly dawned on you.
He wasn't following your lead.
“Baby...” he chuckled between kisses, his tattooed hand sliding up to cradle your jaw, holding your face steady with a firm grip. “You're not kissing me properly.”
Embarrassment rushed through your body so quickly it almost made you dizzy, your inexperience laid bare after only a few clumsy kisses.
Determination quickly swallowed the humiliation.
Before you could think twice, you leaned in again, kissing him with far more urgency than before, desperate to prove that you knew exactly what you were doing.
The moment he finally kissed you back, a breathless whimper nearly escaped you.
He kissed you effortlessly, guiding the rhythm while you struggled to keep up, your breaths already turning shallow enough that you were certain you looked seconds away from hyperventilating.
Determined not to lose yourself completely, you bit down on his lower lip, earning a low, gravelly groan that vibrated against your mouth. The sound alone made your stomach flutter. Taking advantage of the distraction, your trembling hands drifted back to the chain around his neck, fingertips carefully searching beneath his hair for the tiny clasp.
Your eyes fluttered shut when he sucked on your tongue, warmth rushing across your ears and down your neck so quickly it almost burned. It was your first time being kissed like this—his kisses were shamelessly lewd, all heat and desperation. Saliva glistened between your mouths whenever he pulled away, only to capture your lower lip again with another lingering suck that stole the air from your lungs.
Before long, the only sounds filling the car were the quiet, wet presses of your mouths and the uneven rhythm of your breathing.
You couldn't tell whether he was simply that good at kissing or if your lack of experience made every touch feel overwhelming. Either way, the way his hand remained wrapped around your jaw, firmly angling your head exactly where he wanted it, sent a shiver running down your spine.
A soft, helpless moan escaped your lips when you felt him spit into your mouth without breaking the kiss. The sensation sent heat unfurling through every inch of your body, your knees threatening to weaken even from where you sat on his lap.
Your thoughts dissolved into a haze, and before you realized it, the fingers that had been so carefully searching for the clasp of his necklace had gone slack, your mission slipping further out of reach with every slow, lingering pull of his mouth.
“Grind on me.” he groaned.
Your eyes widened, before you could even process his words, both of his hands settled around the curve of your hips, guiding your body into a slow, deliberate roll against his lap.
“W-Wait—”
His mouth found your neck, scattering soft, lingering kisses along the sensitive skin. Goosebumps rippled across your body as his lips traveled lower, his grip never once leaving your hips as he slowly rocked them back and forth, drawing helpless whimpers from your lips.
Heat rushed to your cheeks the moment you felt the firm outline of his hard cock pressing against the thin fabric of your panties.
“Roll your hips, baby.” he grunted.
His teeth grazed your neck before his tongue soothed the sting, the cool metal of his lip piercing dragging lightly over your throat.
Your eyes squeezed shut…losing yourself completely as you followed the guidance of his hands, the subtle throbs of his cock impossible to ignore through the layers separating your bodies.
“That’s it,” he praised, looking down at your rolling hips.
“Oh, gosh…” you moaned.
You couldn't comprehend how dirty and lewd this was, grinding against a stranger's cock while convincing yourself that you wouldn't fuck him.
His clothed mushroom tip grazed the apex between your thighs as he guided your hips through another slow rub, drawing a startled gasp from your lips. A wave of warmth unfurled low in your stomach, spreading until it settled heavily between your legs.
Fuck, you were getting so wet.
Your body burned with a growing tension you didn't know how to quiet. The fabric of your panties clung uncomfortably against your cunt. When his hands finally cupped your breasts over the thin fabric of your dress, a shaky breath caught in your throat.
Your fingers instinctively clutched at his shoulders for balance as he continued to maneuver your body with effortless ease.
“Oh my-”
His lips trailed lower…you sucked in a sharp breath when they reached the swell of your cleavage, your heart stumbling the moment you caught sight of his tongue slipping between the soft curve of your breasts, tasting the narrow valley created by the tight fabric hugging your chest.
“Hmm... so soft,” he murmured.
Before you could even process the praise, he leaned back just enough to gather saliva in his mouth, his cheeks hollowing before he leaned down and let a warm bead of spit fall between your breasts. It slowly trailed down the center of your cleavage, disappearing beneath the neckline of your dress.
A startled gasp escaped you, the shamelessness of it sent another rush of heat coursing through your body.
“Spread my spit, baby.” his voice dropped into a teasing murmur as he brushed a lingering kiss against your cheek. “I want you messy.”
He never stopped guiding your hips, slow, patient rubs against his lap while he watched you expectantly.
You swallowed thickly. It felt as though your body had slipped into a trance, your thoughts muffled beneath the haze he'd wrapped around you.
Almost absentmindedly, your fingers found the warmth between your breasts, gathering the wetness before slowly spreading his spit across the soft skin of your cleavage, his dark, heavy-lidded eyes following every hesitant movement.
Your gaze drifted downward, landing on the gold chain resting against his collarbone.
The necklace!
For a split second, you wanted to slap yourself.
You'd become so hopelessly lost in him that you'd nearly forgotten why you were here in the first place.
Trying to keep up the act, you smiled and gathered the warm trace of his spit onto your fingertips before slowly bringing them to your lips. A flicker of nervousness stirred in your chest as you parted your lips, letting your tongue glide languidly over your damp fingers, never once breaking eye contact with him.
His lips parted. “You like it?”
You nodded. “Hmm…”
“Want more?” he cooed, his voice rough with satisfaction.
Your cheeks heated, a little self-conscious under the way he stared at you before leaning in to kiss you again. You whimpered when he spat into your mouth while kissing you, trying to focus as your hands finally found the chain around his neck. Your fingers worked quickly beneath the curtain of his hair, your heart pounding so violently you feared he would hear it.
Then—the clasp gave.
Relief crashed over you.
You carefully eased the necklace free, letting the chain slip from your fingers onto the leather seat beside you with a faint clink before your hands returned to brace against his chest.
Your pulse hammered in your throat, so distracted by stealing the jewelry that you didn't feel his fingers hooking beneath the thin straps of your black dress until they were already sliding down. Cool air kissed your skin a second before you realized the straps had fallen from your shoulders, the dress bunched at your waist, your bra laid bare beneath his dark, hungry stare.
"Ohh—" a moan ripped from your lips when his hands grabbed your tits through the bra, his palms kneading the soft flesh as his fingers pinched and rolled your stiff nipples through the thin lace.
"So pretty," he praised, his eyes never leaving the swell of your breasts spilling over the cups.
His hand slid behind your back, his fingers flicking the clasp open. Your bra sprang loose, your tits bouncing free, your nipples peaked and aching.
“Keep grinding, baby.” he rasped.
Your hips moved before your brain could catch up, rolling against his lap. His hard cock formed a thick ridge beneath his pants, pressing right against your soaked panties.
The delicious friction made your cunt leak, slick pooling in the gusset as each slow roll of your hips rubbed your clit across his length until your panties clung to your wet, chubby slit.
“Mhm,” you whined as his mouth locked onto one nipple, his tongue lapping at the bud before sucking hard, his teeth scraping lightly while his other hand squeezed your breast, his fingers twisting the neglected nipple until it throbbed.
Wet sounds filled the car—the slurp of his mouth around your nipple and the squelch of your dripping cunt rubbing against his cock through the fabric.
You forced yourself to look down, your heavy-lidded eyes searching for anything that might help you finish what you had come here to do. Then your thigh brushed against the square outline beneath the fabric of his pants.
His wallet.
You drew in a shaky breath before rolling your hips against him with a little more desperation. A low groan vibrated against your nipple the moment he felt the change in your rhythm, the sound sending another wave of heat through your body.
A helpless whine slipped from your lips as your own hands wandered over him, trying to appear just as consumed by the moment. Your palms skimmed over his shoulders, down the firm planes of his chest, and lower still, making you swallow hard at the realization of just how toned he felt beneath your touch.
“Ouch,” you whimpered when his teeth suddenly bit into your nipple.
He only chuckled against your skin.
The sting disappeared beneath a lingering kiss before he lifted his head just enough to murmur.
“Slow down, baby. You're gonna make me cum.”
The teasing words had barely left his lips before his attention shifted back to your breast, his mouth closing around the swollen nipple with harsh, eager suction that made your thighs instinctively tense around him.
Even through the layers of his pants, you could feel how big and hard he was beneath you, the firm outline of his thick cock pressing insistently against your soaked panties with every shallow movement.
Fuck, focus Y/N.
His wallet had shifted dangerously close to the edge of his pocket, almost slipping free from the constant movement of your bodies.
You rolled your hips against him again…another soft moan escaping your lips as the friction sent a dizzying pulse of pleasure through you.
“Oh my…”
For a fleeting second, you almost forgot the wallet, your body threatening to lose the battle your mind was still desperately trying to win.
“Baby…” he groaned harshly.
His hands tightened around your waist, pinning your hips firmly in place before you could move against him again.
Confused, you instinctively tried to move again, but his hand beat you to it. It slipped between your thighs before firmly cupping your pussy over your soaked panties, his palm pressing against your wet cunt as his fingers slowly dragged against the damp fabric. A soft, unmistakable squelch filled the quiet cabin, and your breath caught in your throat.
“I said stay still, fuck.” he whispered, mercilessly squeezing your pussy through the thin fabric until another helpless moan spilled from your lips.
Your eyes fluttered shut on instinct, your mouth falling open as his slow, deliberate touch only made you wetter, the soaked fabric sticking embarrassingly to your folds with every movement of his hand.
A startled gasp escaped you when his free hand suddenly rose to your face, firmly squeezing your cheeks together.
“Keep your eyes open. Look at what I'm doing to you,” he commanded, his thumb finding your clit through the damp fabric and rubbing slow, lazy circles that sent a violent shiver through your body.
“Oh... gosh,” you whimpered, your voice barely above a breath.
Your thoughts were beginning to dissolve all over again until something caught your eye.
His wallet had finally slipped free from his pocket, landing quietly on the leather seat beside him. Relief surged through you, and you almost smiled in triumph, the sight nearly distracting you from your mission's success.
Before you could dwell on it, he hooked a finger beneath the damp gusset of your panties, flipping the fabric aside just enough to expose your slick pussy. His fingertips returned, meeting your bare cunt directly, and the sudden skin-to-skin contact tore another breathless gasp from your lips.
Your eyes rolled back as his long fingers slowly rubbed against your sensitive cunt. The cool metal of his rings grazed your slit with every stroke, sending a sharp shiver through your body and drawing another helpless whimper from your throat.
A low chuckle rumbled in his chest. "Enjoying yourself?"
You could only nod, slow and breathless, your chest rising and falling beneath uneven breaths. Heat bloomed across your cheeks, your face burning from every filthy thing you had let him do to you.
"Yeah?" he murmured, his voice dropping into a whisper. "You like my fingers, baby?"
Before you could answer, his middle finger slowly pressed into your tight, untouched hole.
A broken whimper escaped you, your teeth sinking into your lower lip as your body instinctively tensed around the unfamiliar stretch. For a fleeting second, your hand nearly came up to push him away, your inexperience heightening every overwhelming sensation. But he caught your face first, his fingers tightening around your cheeks, forcing your gaze back to him.
He inhaled softly before hollowing his cheeks, gathering saliva in his mouth, then leaned closer and messily spat between your parted lips.
"Swallow."
You obeyed without hesitation, your throat bobbing as you swallowed, your walls fluttering tightly around his finger at the command.
His hand slipped lower, lifting the hem of your skirt before his gaze settled between your thighs. He watched with quiet fascination as his finger slowly disappeared inside your virgin hole before drawing back out again, only to repeat the motion at an unhurried pace.
"You're so tight, baby." he tilted his head, his eyes never leaving your pussy. "When was the last time you fucked?"
The question alone nearly brought tears to your eyes, embarrassment burning through you just as intensely as the confusing mixture of pain and pleasure his touch continued to pull from your body.
“L-Long time ago.”
As if Y/N!
He licked his lower lip, a quiet whimper slipping past your lips as the pad of his middle finger reached deeper inside your warm tight hole. His movements remained slow until his fingertip brushed against your spongy spot, the sharp ache of the stretch gradually melting into a pleasure so warm it made your body soften around him.
"Aww, is that why you're so tight, baby?” he whispered.
God, this was so wrong.
“Maybe you need me to stretch your hole again, hmm?" he cooed, lowering his head until his lips wrapped around your swollen nipple, sucking gently while his finger continued to work deeper into your tight cunt.
"Y-Yes," you mumbled incoherently, your rational thoughts dissolving as your hips instinctively rolled forward, chasing the slow rhythm of his finger.
The moment he felt you move, his free hand settled firmly around your waist, stilling you with ease. He released your nipple with a soft pop before a quiet chuckle escaped him, his dark eyes lifting to meet yours with unmistakable amusement.
"Patience, baby. I'm still having fun."
A pout tugged at your lips, ready to answer back, but the words never came. His left hand slipped between your thighs instead, slowly parting your folds before drawing back the hood revealing your glistening clit, exposing it completely beneath his dark gaze.
"Wanna suck this clit so bad," he whispered, his gaze fixed between your thighs as your clit pulsed beneath the weight of his stare.
He leaned down and spat over it, a slow trail of saliva slipping down your slit until it met the middle finger buried inside your hole. A helpless whimper caught in your throat, your eyes squeezing shut as he spread the saliva over your exposed clit with slow, pressured strokes, every messy rub sending another wave of pleasure through your body.
Both of his hands were devoted to you now. His tattooed fingers continued to work your tight hole with an unhurried rhythm while his other hand circled your swollen clit, spreading your growing wetness together with his saliva. His eyes never left your cunt, watching every tiny twitch, every shiver that rippled through you as though he wanted to memorize your pulsating pussy.
"You wanna cum?" he asked, lifting a brow as he watched your chest rise and fall with uneven breaths. His middle finger emerged coated in a thick ring of your white milky juices before disappearing back inside you, while your legs trembled uncontrollably beneath every slow sweep of his thumb across your swollen clit.
You nodded desperately, “Y-Yes…”
He pursed his lips, studying you for a long moment.
"You sure?"
"P-Please," you pleaded, your hips instinctively rolling in search of more.
"Aren't you forgetting something?" a small smile tugged at his lips, though there wasn't a trace of humor behind it.
Confusion barely had the chance to settle before he slowly inserted a second finger into your cunt.
A loud moan tore from your throat as the sudden stretch stole the air from your lungs. His fingers paused only briefly, allowing your body to adjust before they began to move together, scissoring you open with slow, rhythmic strokes while his other hand never stopped rubbing your clit.
The lingering ache of the stretch gradually melted beneath the mounting pleasure, your body surrendering to it completely. Your thighs quivered uncontrollably around his hand, your back arching as your orgasm crashed through you. Your eyes rolled back, your walls fluttering helplessly around his fingers while wave after wave of pleasure left your entire body trembling.
“Well done, baby.” he praised.
Even after the intensity began to ebb, your cunt continued to pulse around him, your legs still shaking from the aftershocks.
Only when your breathing had become nothing more than uneven gasps did he slowly withdraw his fingers from your hole, drawing another helpless whimper from your lips as the sudden emptiness met your lingering sensitivity.
Then he leaned in, his teeth grazed the shell of your ear in a soft bite before his lips brushed against it.
"I’m so proud." he whispered.
As your gaze drifted downward, it caught on the slight opening of his wallet, the sight striking you like a quiet reminder of why you had approached him in the first place.
Your fucking mission.
You bit down hard on your lower lip, gathering what little composure remained before forcing the words past your throat.
"C-Can I drink some water? I'm kinda thirsty," you asked softly, your voice barely above a whisper. Your thighs were still trembling from your release, your heart pounding so loudly against your chest that you were certain he could hear it.
You expected him to refuse…Instead, he simply nodded.
"Hmm sure, baby. Let me get it for you."
His tongue swept across his lower lip before he gently tucked a few loose strands of hair away from your flushed cheeks, his touch unexpectedly tender as his eyes lingered on yours.
You swallowed hard, relief flooding through your body so quickly it almost made you dizzy.
"I'll wait for you here," you said with a small smile, leaning forward just enough to steal a quick kiss from his lips before he stood.
His eyes narrowed, smiling a little, but there was something in them that you couldn't quite pinpoint.
The moment he climbed out of the car, shutting the door behind him before disappearing into the noisy beer house in search of a bottle of water, you sprang into action.
You quickly fixed your dress before reaching for the thick gold necklace that had slipped onto the leather seat during everything that had happened between the two of you. Your fingers wrapped around it before darting toward his wallet, still resting exactly where you had dropped it after deliberately sitting on it when you asked for water.
Your pulse thundered in your ears as your gaze frantically swept across the interior of the car, searching for anything else of value. It didn't take long before your eyes landed on a small, heavy bag tucked beneath the passenger seat.
Without wasting another second—or even bothering to look more....you snatched it as well, clutching the necklace, the wallet, and the bag tightly against your chest before quietly pushing the car door open.
With shaky, trembling hands, you slipped out of the vehicle and hurried toward the nearest sprawling tree beside the parking lot, its thick trunk shielding you from anyone who might glance in your direction. Only then did you allow yourself to stop, your chest rising and falling with uneven breaths as you hugged your stolen belongings close, desperately trying to calm the frantic pounding of your heart.
The necklace alone felt expensive in your hands, its weight unmistakable, and you couldn't help but admire the rich gleam of the gold beneath the parking lot lights.
This has to be high-karat.
Your eyes practically sparkled at the thought, relief and triumph swelling inside your chest as you silently congratulated yourself. You had actually managed to steal from him without getting fucked... and without getting caught.
Almost.
A small smile tugged at your lips as you slipped the thick gold necklace into your pocket, the reassuring weight of it pressing against your thigh.
Your attention soon drifted to the heavy bag you had grabbed from beneath the seat, curiosity getting the better of you. You crouched beneath the tree and slowly pulled the zipper open, your brows knitting together at the sight of something black and metallic nestled inside.
Frowning, you reached to get a better look, only for your breath to catch in your throat.
It was a gun.
What the fuck?
Your hands instantly began to shake. The bag slipped from your grasp, hitting the ground with a heavy thud that echoed far louder than it should have in the quiet of the parking lot.
You stared at it in horror before your gaze darted to the wallet still clutched tightly against your chest, your pulse pounding so violently it made your fingers numb.
"Oh God... this is a bad idea," you whispered to yourself, panic clawing its way up your throat.
For one reckless moment, you considered running back, returning the necklace, the wallet, the bag….everything—and pretending none of this had ever happened.
Maybe you could leave them inside his car before he noticed. Maybe you could still walk away.
But it was already too late.
If there was one thing Hanni had drilled into your head from the very beginning, it was this: once you stole something, you never gave it back. Going back wasn't bravery—it was stupidity.
And stupidity was exactly how thieves got caught.
With trembling hands, you slowly opened his wallet, your brows immediately knitting together when an identification card tucked behind a gleaming gold badge came into view.
Your stomach dropped. This wasn't a wallet at all—it was a badge holder.
A cold chill crept down your spine as your fingers shakily flipped the leather, your eyes scanning every detail printed across the identification. The words blurred together at first, your racing heart making it impossible to focus, until your gaze landed on the line that mattered most.
CITY POLICE DEPARTMENT
Rank: Captain | Name: Jeon Jungkook
For a long, terrifying second, your mind went completely blank, your pulse pounding so violently it drowned out every sound around you.
"F-Fuck! Oh God—fuck!"
The words tumbled out in a frantic whisper as your hands shook so violently you could barely keep hold of the badge holder.
Your breathing grew shallow, your mind racing through every possible escape, each one ending worse than the last.
You stared at the polished badge in horror, your heart threatening to beat straight out of your chest, when the sound of approaching footsteps suddenly reached your ears.
Panic surged through your body, and you instinctively turned, ready to run for your life, but a firm hand wrapped around your wrist before you could take a single step.
"Where are you going?" he asked with a quiet chuckle from behind you, amusement lacing his voice.
You froze.
Your gaze remained fixed straight ahead, too terrified to look back at him. Cold sweat trickled down your spine as your heartbeat thundered in your ears.
The heavy bag still lay on the ground at your feet. The gold necklace weighed against your pocket. And clutched tightly between your trembling fingers was his badge holder, still opened to the identification that had shattered every ounce of confidence you had only moments ago.
You had been fucking caught.
Not just by any random stranger.
But by a goddamn police captain.
"I got your water, baby," he said, his voice coated in quiet amusement. You flinched the moment the cold bottle brushed against the back of your thighs, the chill a cruel contrast to the heat of your panic.
"O-Officer, I—"
"You forgot something, didn't you?" he whispered against your ear, his grip never loosening around your wrist.
The bottle of water lazily traced the length of your trembling thigh, as though he had all the time in the world.
Your eyes squeezed shut, your legs threatened to give out beneath you, hot tears gathering until they spilled freely down your cheeks. Every frantic thought crashed into the next, leaving you unable to form a single coherent sentence.
He leaned in even closer, his warm breath ghosting just below your ear.
"You forgot my wallet, baby." his voice dropped into a slow drawl. "That's my badge holder."
A broken sob caught in your throat. Your future flashed before your eyes in vivid, terrifying fragments.
You could already see the cold metal of handcuffs locking around your wrists, the flashing red and blue lights, the backseat of a patrol car, a holding cell, your family finding out, your future slipping through your fingers before you had even been given the chance to fight for it. Everything you had worked so hard for, every dream you had stubbornly clung to despite your circumstances, all of it seemed to crumble into pieces in the span of a few unbearable seconds.
You had just thrown your entire life away.
“P-Please, I-’’
"Is my poor baby too dumb, or does that pretty little head of yours just want to get fucked?"
You shook your head frantically, tears spilling faster down your cheeks. "N-No, no, Officer, please... I'm sorry. It was a mistake—"
A startled gasp escaped you when he suddenly spun you around, your back pressing against the rough bark of the tree. Your tear-clouded eyes instantly met his dark ones, the amusement lingering in them only making the panic clawing at your chest grow worse.
He raised a brow, studying your face for a long, agonizing moment.
"Aww, look at you…so scared, baby." he cooed.
“I-I’m sorry-”
“Want me to give you a chance?’’ he tilted his head.
Hope bloomed inside your chest so suddenly it almost hurt.
Jungkook took another step forward, his broad frame caging you against the tree until there was nowhere left to run. Your entire body trembled beneath his gaze, your heart pounding so violently you could barely hear yourself think, and you looked up at him with desperate, pleading eyes, clinging to the smallest possibility that he might actually let you go.
"P-Please, Officer… I-I'm sorry..." you stammered, the words tumbling over one another in your haste. "I-I know it was wrong, a-and that—"
‘’Run.”
Your lips parted in disbelief.
"W-What?"
He slowly licked his lower lip, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth that carried no warmth whatsoever. Stepping closer until there wasn't even a breath of space left between you, he brushed the pad of his thumb across your trembling lips, his eyes never leaving yours.
“Run, baby. Run as fast as you can.” his voice dropped into a low murmur, his tone as though he were talking to a child. "And when I catch you, I'm gonna take you to prison. I'll fuck you every day behind those rusty metal bars. I'll use your tight little pussy until your hole is gaping and leaking. Maybe I'll even let my comrades fuck you too. We'll take turns fucking that slutty, manipulative pussy of yours."
Desperation made people do reckless things.
It silenced reason, drowned out fear, and left nothing behind but the instinct to survive.
You spun around and bolted before your mind had the chance to catch up, your legs carrying you as fast as they could through the dimly lit streets. Instead of following the brighter roads, you veered into the narrow, shadowed alleyways, your panicked thoughts convincing you that the light was far more dangerous than the dark.
People could help you—but the moment they learned why you were running, they wouldn't see a terrified woman.
They would see a thief.
A criminal…and they would hand you right back to him.
Your lungs burned, each desperate breath sharper than the last, your feet throbbing against the unforgiving pavement as you forced yourself to keep going. When a tall chain-link fence came into view, fear surged through your exhausted body. You stumbled toward it, your shaking hands already reaching for the metal, frantically searching for a way to climb over it.
You never got the chance.
A powerful hand suddenly seized both of your wrists from behind, wrenching them backward before you could react. A startled cry tore from your throat as your body was dragged away from the fence, only to be slammed against it a heartbeat later.
“L-Let me go!” you cried.
The rough metal dug painfully into your cheek, your breath knocked from your lungs as he forced your arms higher behind your back. Then you heard it—
A sharp metallic click…cold steel closed around your wrist.
You were handcuffed.
He secured the other cuff around the metal fence, leaving your wrists restrained above your head. The cold steel bit into your skin as you instinctively struggled against it, your cheek pressed harshly against the chain-link, the rough metal scraping your flushed skin every time you tried to pull away. The handcuffs refused to budge, each desperate tug only making them dig in deeper.
"N-No... no, please," you cried, your voice breaking into helpless sobs.
Instead of hurting you, he reached up and gently combed a few loose strands of hair away from your face, the unexpected tenderness making your entire body flinch. His fingers lingered for a moment, idly twirling a lock of your hair around them before giving it a soft tug.
"Shh, it’s okay…" he said in a mocking tone.
"I-I’m sorry, please…I’ll do anything—"
The plea died on your lips when you felt him lower himself behind you.
“Anything, baby?” he whispered.
He settled onto one knee before slowly gathering the hem of your dress, inch by inch, until your damp panties were fully exposed beneath the cool night air. His large hands slid down to your thighs, spreading your legs apart with an effortless firmness that left your body trembling against the restraint.
Your eyes widened as you pulled uselessly at the handcuffs, your legs instinctively trying to close, but there was nowhere to go. A warm tongue suddenly pressed against the fabric between your thighs, dragging slowly over your sticky panties.
His nose remained buried in your tight hole, drawing in a slow, deep breath as though savoring every scent of you. His tongue dragged languidly along your slit from behind, the damp fabric of your panties doing little to dull the sensation.
"O-Oh gosh-" you cried, fresh tears spilling down your flushed cheeks as you felt him inhale against your clothed cunt again. His tongue swept over you once more, leaving your panties even wetter than before.
“Let me play with you.” he murmured before diving in.
You bit down hard on your lip, another wave of warmth pooling between your thighs despite yourself. More tears slipped from your eyes, the overwhelming pleasure tangling with the fear coursing through your body.
I am not enjoying this, I am not-
A low groan rumbled behind you as he spread your legs farther apart. His pointed nose brushed against your puckered hole, inhaling deeply.
You craned your neck to look around, but there was no one in sight. Only the lonely yellow glow of a streetlamp stretched across the empty street, casting long shadows around the two of you.
When he flipped your panties aside, you instinctively tried to close your legs, but a startled gasp escaped your lips as his palm suddenly came down against your inner thigh with a sharp smack, the sting urging your legs back open for him.
“Open up for me, baby. Let me taste your little pussy,” he murmured, giving your thigh another light tap as he silently coaxed you to spread yourself wider.
You were getting wetter, but the thought of someone's tongue directly against your pussy was beyond your virgin imagination.
When you still didn't move, a quiet chuckle rumbled in his chest.
You felt him rise behind you, the warmth of his body disappearing for only a brief moment before the unmistakable click of metal made your breath hitch. Before you even had the chance to turn your head, the cold barrel of the gun was pressed against your temple.
A broken cry caught in your throat, your entire body trembling.
“W-What-”
"Spread your legs."
His voice was firm, leaving no room for hesitation. The barrel pressed more insistently against your temple, and with another shaky sob, your knees slowly fell farther apart.
A satisfied hum vibrated from his chest. Only then did he pull the gun away, tucking it back into the holster at the back of his belt before lowering himself between your thighs once more. His hands wrapped around them, holding you open exactly how he wanted, and the moment he buried his face between your legs, a deep groan escaped him.
“Oh, gosh!” you moaned.
You were already leaking, his broad tongue dragged slowly up and down your chubby, swollen folds before slipping between them, teasing your slit as it delved deeper, massaging your inner walls with slow, deliberate strokes that only left you wetter.
“Pretty.” he leaned back and spat onto your cunt, watching the thick strand of saliva mingle with your slick wetness. “Do you regret what you did, baby?”
His fingers hooked beneath your outer lips, spreading them apart just enough to watch his saliva disappear deeper into your cunt. He spat again, his gaze fixed on the way it slipped between your folds, leaving your sensitive inner walls glistening.
“Y-Yes,” you moaned shamelessly, the torture only making you wetter.
“Would you let me do anything I want?” he asked, staring at your fluttering cunt.
You bit your lip, feeling your milky juices drip from every degrading thing he'd been saying to you.
“Yes.” you said in a tiny voice.
He chuckled, “You wanted to be used like this, didn't you?”
He leaned in, his tongue flattening as he licked from your perineum to your clit in one slow, vulgar stroke, spreading his spit until his own drool began to trail down his chin.
“You wanted this…you sat on my lap, ground your filthy cunt against my cock, acted like a good little decoy so you could rob me. But your hole's been thanking me the whole time, hasn't it?”
You shut your eyes tightly when you felt him continuously spitting on your cunt, your pussy was getting so wet that you felt it dripping on your inner thighs down to your ankles.
He held your folds apart, leaving you completely exposed for his hungry gaze. Leaning back, he watched the way they trembled and pulsed beneath his eyes before leaning down again, his tongue already darting out to lap up every drop of your juices. Each time he swallowed, he would only spit over you again, coating you until you were slick enough for him to start all over.
Your eyes widened as the muzzle of the gun pressed against your inner thigh, cool, unforgiving steel sending a shiver through your body. It slowly slid higher until it settled against your entrance, the tip quickly growing slick with your wetness.
"O-Officer—"
“Shh, you wanted me to catch you, didn’t you? To rape your thief little pussy.” he mocked, his eyes fixed on the way the tip of the gun glistened with your milky juices as he slowly dragged it up and down your chubby slit.
Desperation was a frightening thing.
It stripped away reason piece by piece until all that remained was the helpless anticipation of whatever came next.
When you didn't answer, too absorbed in the feeling of the foreign gun against your pussy, he pressed it harder against you, drawing a pained whimper from your lips as tears stung your eyes.
"Answer me when I'm talking to you," he said firmly, applying just a little more pressure.
"Y-Yes," you whimpered.
He tilted his head. "Yes, what?"
You bit your lip. "Y-Yes, O-Officer."
He hummed in approval before pulling the gun away. His tongue darted out to taste the tip, sucking your wetness from the cold metal before releasing it with a soft pop.
A low groan rumbled from his chest as he buried himself between your thighs once more, diving back into your exposed pussy with relentless hunger. The obscene sounds of slurping, sucking, and the occasional spit echoed through the place, each one making you feel weaker, more helpless beneath him.
You bit down hard on your lip as you felt your orgasm creeping closer. You tried to hold it back, to keep control, but your body betrayed you.
Every flick of his tongue, every slow suck, every warm trail of spit sent another wave of pleasure crashing through you, making your pussy convulse beneath his tongue.
“F-Fuck-” you whimpered.
Your thighs trembled uncontrollably, your arms ached against the restraints, and your eyes rolled back as the pulsing sensation deep within you grew stronger with every passing second. You wanted to pull away from his mouth, to escape the overwhelming pleasure, but his grip remained firm, holding you exactly where he wanted as he sucked out every last tremor, refusing to let you move even as the overstimulation left your body trembling.
“Mhm, you taste so good, baby,” he whispered, leaning back just enough to pinch your folds together, as though squeezing every last drop of your milky white juices from your pussy before leaning in again to catch it on his tongue.
A helpless whimper escaped your lips. Your legs were on the verge of giving out beneath you, your arms still held captive by the restraints while your pussy throbbed with overwhelming sensitivity. As he rose to his feet, his palm landed against your cunt in a careless slap, making you flinch before he lazily wiped the sheen of your juices from the corner of his mouth.
His hand found your hair again, fingers threading through the strands before tightening into a firm fist. He tugged until your head tipped back, exposing the line of your throat, and his lips brushed against your tear-dampened cheek.
“Wanna steal more, baby?”
His grip twisted tighter, pulling your head back until your neck arched painfully.
He slowly dragged his tongue along the salty trail of your tears, licking your cheek with slow strokes, savoring the taste of your cries as another quiet hum of approval rumbled in his chest.
You whimpered, your body trembling as you felt the hard outline of his clothed bulge press against the plush of your ass. He slowly ground his erection against you, a low grunt vibrating beneath your ear while his hand kept a firm hold on your hair, tugging your head back just enough for him to suck and leave harsh bites along your neck.
“What do you want, baby?” he whispered, grinding his cock more firmly against your bare ass. “My money? My jewelry?”
“O-Officer-”
His fist tightened in your hair, forcing another helpless whimper from your lips as he dragged his tongue along your throat, feeling the way you swallowed hard beneath him. “You wanted all of it, didn't you?”
His teeth sank into your neck once more as his clothed bulge rutted harder against the cleft of your ass, the seam of his pants catching against your skin with every slow roll of his hips. At the same time, his free hand slipped beneath your dress, yanking the fabric higher before grabbing a full handful of your bare ass, his fingers digging into the soft flesh hard enough to leave bruises.
"My pretty, pretty thief," he praised, pressing a kiss to your cheek as his hips rolled against you with even more force.
He wrenched his pants open just enough for his hard cock to spring free, the heated length slapping against one ass cheek before the other. Pre-cum glistened over the swollen tip as he slowly ground the shaft along the plush curve of your ass, coating your skin with every deliberate roll of his hips.
"Feel that? I'm so hard for you, baby."
A helpless mewl slipped past your lips as you weakly shook your head, your entire body trembling while he continued rubbing against your ass.
“Fuck, you make me so fucking horny.” he grunted.
Your cheeks burned crimson, the same flush spreading across your neck, and another whimper escaped you when he suddenly jerked your head back by the hair.
"Grind back, baby, or I'll fuck this tight little ass of yours."
You cried harder, your body trembling as you reluctantly began to move your ass against his cock. A deep groan escaped him, his right hand settling firmly on your hip as he looked down, watching the way his hard length slid slowly through the cleft of your ass with every hesitant grind.
He spat over the curve of your ass for added lubrication, and a helpless cry caught in your throat when you felt the warm saliva land against your puckered rim. Despite the humiliation, your pussy only grew wetter.
His tattooed hand suddenly snaked around your waist, trailing lower until it reached your cunt. You gasped as his fingers cupped your pussy before hooking between your folds, spreading your lips apart into a lewd V-shape for him to admire.
“Look down and watch your clit, baby.” he rasped, tilting your head down so your gaze fell between your legs.
“P-Please...” you croaked, your body growing weaker by the second, your pussy aching for more even as the rest of you threatened to give out.
“Wanna be fucked so bad, huh?”
You gasped as his middle finger suddenly pushed between the V-shaped hold of his fingers, slipping inside your tight cunt. Your walls fluttered helplessly around the thick digit as he slowly worked it deeper.
“Oh! Mhmp!” you screamed.
His cock left your ass, the slick tip dragging slowly down until it notched against your entrance, smearing pre-cum and his spit over your swollen folds.
“Gonna fuck you good, baby…you’ve been a very bad girl.” he yanked your hair, tilting your head back as his tongue traced a slow path from your neck to the shell of your ear. “Need to fuck some sense into you, hmm?’’
“Mhmp!” you whimpered.
“Shh... moan for me, baby. It'll feel good.” his finger pressed deeper one last time, stretching your walls before he slowly withdrew it. The emptiness lasted only a heartbeat before he replaced it with the thick, leaking head of his cock, nudging its way against your entrance.
“Ahhh!” you screamed at the sudden stretch, his thick cock forcing its way into your tight pussy until you could feel every pulsing vein dragging against your walls as he pushed deeper.
He thrust halfway, then stopped, watching your cunt spasm around him, a thin ribbon of milky white release clinging to his shaft like a ring.
“Fuck, you’re so tight.” he slowly pulled back before driving into you harder, bottoming out in one deep thrust, his pelvis slamming against your ass hard enough to make the fence rattle.
“Need to use this cunt every day. Maybe I’ll let my comrades fuck this tight little cunt so they can loosen you up for me, yeah?” he grunted, pushing even deeper until his balls rested snug against your cunt, the coarse hair at the base of his cock brushing against the curve of your ass with every shallow grind.
“U-Ugh, p-please...” you screamed, trying to wriggle, but he only answered with a low grunt against your ear. Then, without warning, he withdrew his cock completely.
For one fleeting moment, you thought he was finally going to let you go.
But your eyes widened the instant you heard the unmistakable clink of his leather belt being unclasped.
Your eyes widened as you felt him wrap the leather around your neck, fastening it just snug enough for him to tug whenever your cries grew too loud, cutting off your words with every sharp pull.
“Behave, baby.” he chuckled, easing himself inside you once more while keeping a firm grip on the belt for leverage. Every now and then, he gave it another deliberate tug, silencing your screams as his hips continued to drive into you.
The moment his hips began to roll against yours, your eyes fluttered back, pleasure blooming beneath the sting until you couldn't tell where one ended and the other began.
“O-Oh, O-Officer!” a shaky sob escaped your lips, born as much from the humiliation as the sensation itself. Your pussy ached for more, clenching helplessly around his thick girth, betraying you with every pulse.
A quiet chuckle rumbled from behind you. His arm slid around your waist, holding you firmly against him as he circled his hips into yours, each relentless thrust threatening to lift your body off your feet.
“Is my baby enjoying this?” he whispered, giving the leather another measured yank, just enough to cut your sob short. The strap bit into the flushed skin of your throat as his hips snapped forward again, his balls slapping wetly against your cunt with every forceful thrust.
“This is turning you on, huh?”
You shook your head, but your pussy only grew wetter, your cries slowly dissolving into helpless moans as he continued to fuck you from behind.
“Want me to stop?” he whispered.
“N-No, Officer.” you whimpered, tears slipping down your cheeks as you gave a slow, trembling shake of your head.
“Yeah? You like getting used?”
He gave the belt another sharp tug, cutting off your whimpers before loosening it just enough to let a broken moan spill from your lips. Then he drove into you even deeper, his mushroom tip grinding against your spongy walls until you could feel your own milky juices coating his shaft.
"Gonna lock you up in a cell, baby… you'll be the precinct's little fucktoy."
The moment his thick head brushed against your g-spot, your entire body spasmed around his cock. A harsh groan tore from his throat as your walls clamped down on him, forcing him to pull out almost immediately. His movements turned urgent, one hand fumbling for the keys clipped to his belt while the other steadied you. Your hazy eyes fluttered shut as you felt the handcuffs finally come undone from your wrists.
You thought he was done.
A weak gasp escaped your lips when he suddenly flipped you over to face him, your exhausted arms falling limply to your sides as he stripped away the rest of your dress. Without a word, he lifted you with effortless strength and pinned you against the cold metal fence before guiding his hard cock back inside you. A broken whimper slipped from your throat at the oversensitivity left behind by your previous orgasm, your body instinctively tensing around him as his mouth found your exposed nipples, sucking them greedily while he chased his own release.
Your body bounced helplessly with every powerful thrust, like a toy being used exactly as he pleased. Your tongue nearly lolled from your parted lips, your mind reduced to nothing but scattered pleasure as his larger frame manhandled yours with ease. Low grunts and strained moans vibrated against your swollen nipples, each sound muffled by the way his mouth refused to leave them.
A rough growl tore from his throat as his climax finally overtook him. You felt the thick warmth of his release spilling deep inside your already used hole, his hips continuing to roll against yours in slow, deep motions, as though determined to push every last drop of his cum even deeper.
“Fuck, baby,” his teeth sank into the soft flesh of your breast, the sharp sting blending seamlessly with the lingering waves of pleasure coursing through your body.
Some of it trickled down the insides of your thighs, warm against your skin. Your eyes fluttered, barely able to stay open…your body hanging limply in his grasp.
When he finally set you back on your feet, your legs nearly gave out beneath you. Before you could steady yourself, he was already kneeling between your thighs again, firmly spreading them apart as though he hadn't just reduced them to trembling.
“W-Wait-” you panicked.
A helpless cry escaped your lips when his mouth found your swollen pussy once more, lapping up the mixture of his release and your milky wetness, slurping every drop with relentless hunger. The overstimulation sent your body reeling, your clit already so unbearably sensitive that the moment his tongue slid upward to wrap around it, your pussy pulsed against his mouth, another orgasm crashing through you before you could stop it.
He looked up at you with heavy lidded eyes, watching every twitch and shudder that overtook your body as you came around his mouth.
You could see the way his cheeks hollowed with every slow suck on your clit, and somehow the sight of his discarded gun and badge lying carelessly on the floor beside him made the moment feel even dirtier—
A police officer on his knees, devotedly eating out the very thief he had caught.
Only when he was satisfied did he rise to his feet. His hand slipped into your hair, gently tugging you toward him until his lips claimed yours, letting you taste yourself on his tongue as he kissed you with greedy desperation. Your eyelids grew heavy, your knees threatening to buckle again, your body barely able to remain upright.
You flinched when you felt his hardened cock brush against your inner thighs even as he continued kissing you, a wave of panic surging through your exhausted body. Your pussy already felt swollen and unbearably sensitive, every nerve still humming from the relentless orgasms he had pulled from you.
As though sensing the fear creeping into your expression, he let out a low chuckle, slowly pulling away from your lips to study your face.
"Aww, is my baby tired?" he cooed, the words dripping with mock honey as he nudged your chin upward.
You shook your head, your body instinctively yielding to whatever he was going to do next.
The corner of his mouth twitched before he bit down on his lower lip, your quiet submission enough to make his cock throb.
"Kneel for me."
Your knees trembled beneath you as you slowly lowered yourself, a startled gasp escaping your lips the moment the swollen tip dragged a lazy streak of pre-cum across your cheek.
"Open up, baby…daddy's not done." he gathered your hair into one hand with a gentleness that belonged to a lover rather than the man standing before you, tilting your face toward his groin, a smile tugging at his lips that never quite reached the darkness in his eyes.
"Clean up the mess you made, hmm? Open wide for Officer."
The swollen head nudged past your lips, and a mock-pitying sigh slipped from him as your mouth slowly yielded around his cock, your tongue flattening instinctively beneath the weight before a helpless gag caught in your throat.
"There, there," he murmured, his fingers absentmindedly stroking your hair. "Suck nice and slow, pretty girl."
He began to rock his hips into your mouth in slow, shallow thrusts, while his free hand continued to pet your hair with a tenderness so painfully at odds with the degradation spilling from his lips.
"That's it, baby," he praised softly. "Tongue flat, like the dumb, cute slut you are."
He pushed his cock deeper until the swollen mushroom tip nudged the back of your throat, the prominent veins along his shaft dragging against the roof of your mouth with every slow thrust, the upward curve making each movement reach even deeper.
"I can give you everything you want, baby," he whispered, a groan slipping past his lips as his thrusts gradually became sloppier, his grip on your hair tightening with every push. Saliva gathered at the corners of your mouth as you fought the urge to choke, wet, muffled gargles escaping your throat each time he buried himself deeper. Your eyes burned, quickly turning red as tears pooled along your lash line.
He cradled your hair once more, the tenderness of the gesture clashing with the relentless pace of his hips.
"I can provide for you... spoil you with all of my money," he murmured, easing himself forward until your nose brushed against the coarse hair at his pelvis.
He held your face snugly in place for a brief moment before slowly rolling his hips, then gently pulled you back just enough to let you catch your breath, his saliva-slick cock dragging across your flushed cheeks.
"Do you want that?" he asked, tilting his head as he lazily ground his cock against your swollen cheek.
You nodded eagerly, your tear-filled eyes never leaving his.
He chuckled, giving your cheek a light tap with the head of his cock. "Do you understand me, baby?"
You pouted…your cheeks burning red, your eyes swollen, your lips wet with his precum.
“Mhm..”
“Mhm?” he chuckled.
He bit his lower lip as he stared down at you, quietly admiring the mess he'd made. “Cute.”
Without warning, he yanked your head forward until he was fully seated inside your mouth, your nose pressed into his pubic hair as his balls slapped against your chin with each shallow roll of his hips.
"Gurk—gurk—"
You choked around him, tears immediately spilling down your cheeks, but the only response he gave was a deep groan as he slowly began to fuck your face, each thrust forcing another muffled gargle from your throat.
"Fuck, baby...I'm gonna cum."
He pulled out just enough to lean down and spit onto your tongue before pushing his cock back into your mouth in one smooth thrust, the loose belt still hanging around your neck, its end dragging through the dirt every time your head was forced forward.
You gagged helplessly around him, your cheeks hollowing as your eyes rolled back, your head rocking back and forth with every relentless thrust while he used your mouth however he pleased. And when you felt his rhythm begin to falter, his thrusts growing rougher and increasingly sloppy, he suddenly pulled free with a low groan. Before you could even catch your breath, he hauled you to your feet, one arm wrapped firmly around your body as he guided his cock against your cunt, his other hand positioning himself before pushing his hard cock back into your tight hole.
“I’m gonna cum inside baby, a reward for being a good little toy for daddy.”
A broken cry escaped your lips as he buried himself to the hilt, his body shuddering the moment he came. Thick, warm spurts filled you one after another while your body trembled from the lingering overstimulation, his hips continuing to jerk and roll against yours as he emptied every last drop inside you.
"These are worth thousands, Y/N! Oh my God."
Hanni's eyes widened in utter disbelief, her gaze sweeping across the worn wooden table as though she couldn't decide which stolen treasure to look at first.
A thick leather wallet, its compartments stuffed with crisp bills. Heavy gold necklaces lay tangled together beside matching rings, each piece gleaming with the unmistakable richness of high-karat gold. A limited-edition watch rested nearby, its polished face catching the kitchen light with every slight movement. And a duffel bag overflowed with expensive perfumes, bottle after bottle worth more than most people's monthly salary.
A slow smile tugged at your lips as your gaze wandered over Jungkook's belongings scattered across the table.
You never told Hanni that you'd gotten caught.
Instead, you let her believe everything had gone according to plan.
Desperation has a way of rewriting your morals. It convinces good people to cross lines they once swore they would never touch, somehow making it feel like the only choice left.
He had given you far more than you had ever planned on stealing.
Tucked beneath your bed, hidden inside an old shoebox, were stacks of cash and signed checks worth enough to keep you comfortable for a long while—buying you the time to find a better path for yourself.
You hadn't even told Hanni about them.
Not because you didn't trust her, but because you knew the moment she saw that kind of money, questions would follow. Questions you couldn't answer without admitting where it had come from. So you kept the cash hidden, the checks tucked safely beneath it, and carried the secret alone.
He still hadn't turned you over to the authorities, even though it was painfully obvious he'd known exactly what kind of person you were from the very beginning.
From the moment he'd let you reach for the clasp of his necklace, he'd already known.
No high-ranking police officer—especially not a captain…would've failed to notice what you were trying to do. He had seen through you from the very beginning, long before you'd ever managed to slip a single thing into your hands.
Why did he let you?
You smiled seductively, slipping the watch and wallet beneath your dress before taking another sip of your now-warm beer, your gaze lingering on your target, who was far too drunk to notice the way your attention had never truly been on him.
Perhaps you hadn't changed.
Because here you were, stealing again…chasing the same thrill, the same rush, while somewhere beneath every excuse you made for yourself, another reason quietly waited.
Maybe you wanted to see him again.
You left the crowded club with the stolen watch and wallet hidden beneath your dress, weaving through the lingering crowd until the music faded behind you. The cool night air greeted your flushed skin as you made your way toward the smoking area, where you and Hanni had agreed to meet.
You had been stealing for six months now.
You managed to steal from a shopping mall, a restaurant, a boutique, and even a high-end store—your usual targets where men were rarely involved.
Tonight, you decided to try flirting again…attempting to seduce someone despite the fact that your only experience had been with him.
Before you could even pull out your phone to text Hanni, someone pushed you against the cold brick wall.
Familiar dark, round eyes stared back at you, the same pierced lips curled around a cigarette as smoke drifted lazily into the night. Tattooed arms caged you in on either side, leaving nowhere for you to go.
Your eyes widened.
Seeing him dressed in the crisp navy uniform of a police captain stole the air from your lungs.
Gold captain's bars gleamed from the epaulets on his shoulders, while a polished metal badge rested proudly over his chest. His duty belt sat low around his waist, crowded with the familiar weight of handcuffs, a radio, holster, and the rest of the equipment that came with his authority. The neatly pressed fabric, the black tie tucked beneath the collar, the nameplate pinned above his pocket—it all transformed the man you remembered into someone far more intimidating.
Power looked infuriatingly good on him.
Before you could utter a single word, his left hand slipped under your dress. Your breath caught as his fingers found the watch and wallet strapped against your thigh with effortless precision.
“Looks like my baby didn't learn her lesson, hmm?”
𓄲 Jungkook got off the phone, sat back in his seat and finished his cigarette. Then he had another one. He felt oddly at peace given what he'd just found out. In fact, he thinks this might be his biggest moment of clarity yet.
전정국 x f!reader ˖ ࣪ ꉂ🗯˙ ‹— cw dilf!jungkook single dad jungkook nanny!reader 1980s au slowburn fluff angst (eventual) explicit content age gap (jungkook is 30, reader is 20) oc!cassian/oc!rayne (jk's children) warnings for chapter 25: implied sex smoking pregnancy giving birth (I may be over-tagging right now) death & grief substance abuse hints at violence very brief noncon kissing depression this one touches slightly on starvation/not eating due to grief
⧽ word count ⋮ 20.6k
average reading time ⋮ 1 hour and 30 minutes
── [ ✉️ ] Hey. Hello. Right so, I severely underestimated just how long this chapter was going to be, hence my absence. Also, life has been taking its toll on me. I've lost my ID and credit card, gotten it back, made horrible phone calls to people that drain me. I'm still trying to figure a lot of the situation out and it's just exhausting. On top of that, this is such a heavy chapter. So much happens in this one, sometimes it didn't even feel like I was writing HW (you'll understand soon). You'll also notice that I go into detail about certain things more than others, this is a strategic move on my part. If I went in depth about every single thing that happens here, this would be 50k. I'll be explaining this more in the note at the end of the chapter. Anyway, this has by far been my favorite chapter to write, but also the hardest. So fucking much happens, you ladies truly are not ready. I hope you'll enjoy this, I've proofread to the best of my abilities but please have grace if you find grammatical errors/repetition/spelling mistakes etc.. I am only human I fear. Feedback in the comments/reblogs and asks are much appreciated <3
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chapter 25 — "Jeon Jungkook"
June 23rd, 1977
The floor thumps in rhythm with the heavy bass blasting from the stereo, cranked up to the highest volume setting. Even the mattress seemed to be moving along to the song, sending vibrations through his body as he sprawls out across the bed. He stares up at the ceiling idly, watching the cloud of smoke as it curls around itself, some of it catching in the afternoon sun.
Jungkook liked to start his days like this — seeing as he woke up around noon — with blaring noise to cancel out reality for a moment. He can barely hear his own thoughts even if he tried to focus on them, much less the fervent pounding of his mother's fist to the door — pure bliss.
Posters are slapped to his walls, the house's original yellow peeking out where his poor tapestry didn't cover. Majority of them are bands, AC/DC, Judas Priest, mostly Black Sabbath though. There are a few cut-outs from porn magazines, women with their tits pressed together, arched to his liking. Jungkook would jerk off to them whenever he was bored or simply horny — which was his default state for the most part.
His sanctuary is brief today, the banging on his bedroom door managing to overpower even the shrill of the singer's raspy voice. He hadn't heard her stomp up the stairs, but he imagined his mother to be muttering her displeasure all the way up the thirteen steps — a number that irked him.
"Turn it down!" comes her aggravated yell. Any other mortal might've missed it due to the sheer velocity of his music preferences. But Jungkook was well versed in listening for his parents' every breath in order to avoid them whenever he snuck out.
"Jungkook!" She's got her knickers in a twist today it seems, usually she would give up after the initial shout. "Unlock your door this instant!" The command is followed by the rattling of the handle as his mother yanks on it roughly.
To that he simply rolls his eyes, reaching one hand up to rub at his temple where a headache had began to build. He sinks a little further into the mattress, hoping that the next track would deafen whatever scolding she was about to deliver. For a moment he's almost inclined to believe it did. She had gone silent in the hallway, perhaps she'd given up and returned downstairs. That would have been the best of worlds.
"Are you smoking in there?!"
But of course not. His gaze drifts to the cigarette caged within his index and middle finger, and he rolls it between them leisurely. "No!" he calls back.
The smell had probably seeped under the crack of his door which she pounded on, pungent enough for her to catch — not that he gave a shit. "Get out here right now!" his mother remains persistent, "Your father needs your help in the kitchen!"
Jungkook groans, his head tipping back onto the pillow with a thud, "I'm busy!"
He could feel her anger, radiating off of her in hot waves as she stands just beyond his door. Had he not been smart enough to lock it, she would have probably roughed him up by now. The thought makes the corner of his lip twitch as he brings the cigarette between them for another drag.
"Don't make me ground you a second time this month!" Her threat doesn't make him flinch, they never did, but it does make him frown.
"You can't ground me, I'm nineteen."
"Nineteen or not—" her voice rises loud enough to overpower the opening instrumental of Paranoid, "You still live under my roof and you do as I say!"
Jungkook snorts, his head lifting off the cushion it had been resting on. "Suck my fat cock!" he hollers back before swinging his legs over the edge of the bed.
The pounding to his door starts sounding more and more like a madman beating a drum. "Don't you dare use such language with me!" oh she was livid, "Get out here right now before I have your father dismantle this door himself!"
She wouldn't actually have him do that, Jungkook knows it just as well as she does. With the cigarette shoved between his lips, he pulls on his thick leather boots, insistent on wearing them despite the heat. Then he heads over to the window, undoing the latch and shoving it open as he climbs out.
It's quite the trek but Jungkook has made this journey enough times to be at ease as he hangs off the ledge of the windowsill, knuckles whitening as he holds on. To his left is a downspout, close enough for him to hook one leg around it. There's a brief second where he's at risk of falling as he lets go, always is, but he catches himself on the pipe and slides down without much trouble.
The grass bends under his weight and he takes a couple of steps back. With one final glance toward the house and a satisfied drag from his cigarette, he makes for the street — intent on finding entertainment elsewhere whilst his mother continues to yell at the 8-track playing in his bedroom.
Jungkook enters the filled town square with little plan. The sun sits high in the sky, making the outdoor cafes attractive to the general public. He couldn't care less for them. The thought of bumping elbows with the person on the table next to his own makes him scrunch his nose in disgust. Instead he lets his attention flicker over to the fountain that sits in the center of the plaza.
An old statute of a woman stands carved in the middle, water sprouting from her open palms before falling into the basin. It's not terribly crowded and he heads over to claim a spot on the stone ledge. Its cool enough to combat the summer heat, the artificial rain skimming along his back comfortably.
He surveys the area briefly, noting the a group of kids hovering by a display window, two men playing chess on a nearby bench and a handful of mother's chatting loudly as they pushed their strollers back and forth. Jungkook found studying people to be far more pleasant than actually engaging in any real conversation with them.
Slipping a hand into his jean pocket, he fishes out the pack of cigarettes he always kept on standby. He tilts his head down, fringe falling across his forehead and the world around him goes dark as he lights the embers and takes a long drag.
"Mind if I bum one?"
He hadn't noticed her approach, the sound of her footsteps easily drowned out by the commotion around them. But there she stands. With dark brown curls that fall down her shoulders, a white flannel tucked into her navy jeans and a vintage-looking bag slung over one arm, fingers curled around its thick leather strap.
Jungkook glances left, then right, making sure that she was actually addressing him and not the homeless-looking man a couple of feet away. She nods to the pack, still resting in his palm with an expectant but friendly smile.
He springs into action right away, "Uh, sure." Shoving his own cigarette between his lips, he fumbles to pluck a second one from the box. The lighter comes next and she accepts both with a grateful hum.
His next swallow goes down with strained effort as he watches her put a flame to it and inhaling. Jungkook hadn't pegged someone like her for a smoker, but he finds himself completely entranced by the way her mouth wraps around the cigarette. He doesn't even realize she's returning the lighter until its back in his palm, and he stares at it dumbfoundedly.
"Can I?" she then asks as she gestures toward the open slot beside him.
He mods, scooting over to give her room as she takes a seat. His own cigarette sits forgotten between his lips as he steals a peek at her through the corner of his eye. She tips her head back, long and dark lashes fluttering against her cheeks when she savors another puff.
"Long day?" he finds himself asking, finally regaining that of his composure. Usually he hates small talk, but something about her makes him open up for it anyway.
She grins, "Yeah. Something like that. You?"
Jungkook scoffs. His day had started less than two hours ago — but sure, his mother's nagging had put a dampen on his mood. He busies himself with a long drag, letting the ash slip down his throat like some reverse chimney. When he turns his attention back to her, he finds her free hand extended.
"What's your name?" she asks when their fingers lace together in a simple greeting.
"Jungkook," he says, taking a moment to study the intricate swirls of polish on her nails.
She tries his name out for herself, tongue clicking against the roof of her mouth in approval, like he'd just passed some unknown test of hers.
"I'm Yelena."
Their gazes meet and whatever pathetic answer had waited on his tongue vanishes as he loses himself in the way her brown eyes glimmer under the hot afternoon sun. She withdraws her hand all too soon, lifting it to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear as she brings the cigarette back to her lips. "Nice to meet you, Jungkook."
Yelena — or, Yelena Louise Emerson, as her full name was, not that it mattered of course — was a lot more decent than the girls from his high school years. She spoke with grace he hadn't known before, the words coming effortlessly even as she discusses the most mundane topics, and Jungkook finds himself clinging onto each sentence.
After finishing their cigarettes he proposes a walk which she happily agrees to. They cover every inch of the city side by side, moving at a leisure pace and stopping to peer at trees, park benches and other nonsensical stuff. He learns that she's two years his junior, her eighteenth birthday coming up in September, two weeks after his twentieth.
She had graduated only a month prior and was going into fashion school this fall. "What about you?" Yelena asks when they cross the bridge going over the canal. Jungkook's steps falter, his twitching hands finding purchase in the pockets of his loose jeans. He hadn't thought much of what he wanted to if he was being honest — university never enticed him, hell, he barely made it through senior year.
He shrugs, "I don't know. Don't got no plan." Right now he was leeching off his parents, had been for the past two years without shame. A job felt like a sadistic play of torture and he had no intentions of acquiring one in the near future.
"Really?" Yelena has stopped too, she was now leaning against the railing, arms folded across her chest. "I figured you were in a garage band or something."
Jungkook frowns, "What?"
But she simply raises him a brow, shooting him a pointed look and he glances down to his attire. The crease on his forehead deepens as he studies the ill-fitted t-shirt, which he regrets not washing as he stands before her. He lingers on the print across his torso, "What's wrong with Black Sabbath?"
Yelena laughs, the sound echoing off the bridge they stand on and Jungkook blinks in surprise. "Not that," she gestures toward him in his entirety, "You got the look." Cocking her head to the side, she thoughtfully adds, "I like it."
The tips of his ears burn pink at that and Jungkook quickly clears his throat as he squints toward the scorching sun. He can feel her gaze on him even as he stubbornly refuses to acknowledge it. Part of him wishes she would look away, the other longs for her undivided attention.
"Are you wearing makeup?"
Her sudden question catches him off guard and he sends her a puzzled look. Yelena points to her own eyes and Jungkook reaches a finger up to caress one of his lids. "Oh," he muses, "Yeah, I guess." The black charcoal he wore was part of his everyday appearance, sometimes he even slept in the smudged eyeliner — it was a bitch to wash off anyway. Though Jungkook had never considered it makeup. This was just who he was.
Yelena nods, cracking a small smile as the afternoon sun illuminates her dark curls, "Looks cool."
After their first rendezvous they agreed to meet up again. Nothing crazy, another walk around town, coffee at the local cafes, a shared lunch, stuff like that. It wasn't much but suddenly Jungkook had more a reason to roll out of bed each day. He even made an effort to brush his teeth in the morning and changing into clothes that hadn't been decaying on his floor for the past week.
His parents caught on rather quickly. Suppose it might've had something to do with the fact that he was skidding down the stairs at an adequate 10am instead of 2pm. "Going somewhere?" his father had asked as he peered up from behind the day's paper.
Jungkook came to a halt in front of the hallway mirror, shoving a hand through his wild hair once, then twice. "Nope," he'd clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth, "Just headin' on a walk." Whether they bought the cheap excuse or not was of no difference to him, he'd left through the front door before either of them had time to process his response.
On their fourth get-together, Yelena had pointed to his eyebrow. "Did it hurt?" she asks, curiosity lacing her words. They were sat criss-cross on top of the plaid blanket she'd brought from home, shaded by the large oak tree they huddled under.
"Nah," Jungkook shrugged, one of his fingers toying idly with the spiky end of his piercing. "I'm thinkin' of getting more." He liked to pride himself on having quite the pain tolerance, a needle going through his brow hadn't been much of a fuss, nor the patchwork of tattoos he'd started on his right forearm.
The park was oddly quiet on that Saturday morning, with only a few birds chirping in the distance and the gentle breeze that brushes through their hair. "I think lip piercings are cool," Yelena muses, her eyes lingering on his mouth as she said the words.
Jungkook felt his throat go dry and he hoped she didn't notice that he fought to swallow. "Yeah?" he cleared his throat, "They're alright." He'd tired to play it off, but his nonchalance only lasted him so far — and the very next week the needle had sliced his bottom lip, a silver ring now hugging it.
The more time they spent together the more he learned about her — for Yelena came with a lot of surprises. She knew how to sew, crochet and knit, in fact each piece in her wardrobe she had designed and made herself. It became clear when taking a closer look at the personalized flair of her shirt, the added flowers to her jeans or the headband she had crafted from her mother's old dress.
Her dream was to open her own clothing store in the future, though she said that fashion school was a decent start in said direction. Jungkook agreed, he said that she was no doubt talented, she was bound to be a success — which was more than what could be said about him.
His infatuation with Yelena grew for each minute spent in her presence. And soon enough he was working up the courage to ask her on an actual date with him. It had been meek attempt. The words tumbled clumsily from his tongue and he had said them with a slight stutter, pathetic really. And yet — she'd said yes.
So he took her to the movies, bought her a soft drink and popcorn. Then he watched her through the corner of his eye as the film played on the big screen before them. He noted the way her lips would twitch whenever she found a line particularly amusing, the rapid flutter of her lashes as she blinked the tears away during emotional scenes.
Under the dimmed lights of the movie theater Jungkook had kissed her for the first time. A shy peck at first, testing the waters. But then she had kissed him back — slipped him tongue right there over their shared popcorn — and holy shit, Jungkook knew he was a goner.
Summer came to an end all too quickly. And though Jungkook's routines included minimal change with the turn of season, things would not stay the same between him and Yelena. For all of July and August they had been basking in their own simple sanctuary. Passing a cigarette back and forth on his bed, listening to his 8-track together or going on long walks by the canal.
Yelena would be busy most of the time from here on out. School was robbing him of her warm presence and giddy laughter. A selfish part of him wanted to ask of her to give it up and just stay with him as they were — he almost did. But this was her dream, and what was she to do with him? Sleep until noon and smoke cigarettes whilst leeching off her parents? No, Yelena was better than him.
Jungkook knew that if he wanted to keep her in his life, he would have to make a change. His mother had raised him a brow when he brought up the idea of getting a job. Though she seemed happy that he was finally pulling himself together and making an effort.
"Does this have something to do with the girl you've been seeing?" she asks over the breakfast table that morning.
Jungkook snorts, "No." Blatantly ignoring the fact that his face was beet red as he shoved more eggs into his mouth and chewed quickly. But it had everything to do with her — as all things did recently.
He managed to get a position at the local gas station. The hours were long and the tasks were boring. Each second spent there killed him and he nearly quit a handful of times. The thought of Yelena kept him going. She'd told him during one of their dates that she wanted to move out of her parents house, and he was hellbent on making it a reality for her.
It took four months of hard work. Four months of resetting pumps and mopping floors as he busted his ass trying to save up. In that time he grew balls enough to ask her to be his girlfriend, like, officially. Jungkook had never had a girlfriend before, most of them were just brief one night stands and flirtatious banter. So he was determined to do things right with Yelena.
From bringing her flowers each time they saw each other to splurging what was left of his paycheck on jewelry for her. She would always tell him that there was no need for materialistic things like that, but Jungkook didn't know how else to express his feelings, which led him to getting her even more stuff.
But by the four month mark there was enough money in his account to pay off the first month's rent on a small, one-bedroom apartment. Jungkook had never felt more proud of himself as he handed her the spare keys, "It's ours now."
The place wasn't luxurious by any means. Water pumped slowly, it took long for the shower to even heat up, but Yelena was happy, and that was what mattered.
Living together wasn't bad at all. Of course they got on each other's nerves from time to time, it was inevitable. Suppose Jungkook did play his music a little too loud at times, but she would litter fabric and thread throughout the flat — making him curse loudly whenever he pricked himself on a hidden needle.
Every moment, both good and bad, is what made those first months so special. It was where Jungkook truly fell in love with Yelena — it was also when he first had the guts to tell her that he did.
A year passed as they spent both Christmas and New Year's together. That apartment saw everything. From them enjoying the first snow, to watching the birds as they returned in spring, to laying on the hard, wooden floors together as the summer rays spilled through the dirty windows.
This was his happy place.
Sunday afternoons were Jungkook's least favorite part of the week. It meant that the short weekend with Yelena was coming to an end. She would return to school come Monday morning, and he would have to haul his ass back to the gas station for another ten hour shift.
The sheets are pooled around his waist, his glistening chest rising and falling slowly as he peers up at the ceiling. Sex usually took his mind off the gloomy reality that prowled the outskirts of his thoughts. The aftermath of his orgasm still lingers in his stomach and legs, they feel heavy where he sprawls out across the mattress. Today the voices are louder than the euphoric high of busting a nut.
Yelena sits against the headboard beside him, her dark curls cascading down her shoulders in that post-intimacy way he loved so much. The cigarette hangs loose between her fingers, her gaze fixed ahead when she brings it up for another long drag. He could watch her for hours without ever growing tired, finding something new to obsess over each time — and if he didn't, then he would simply go back to her eyes, her eyes were everything.
When she notices his lingering stare, she tilts her head with a lopsided grin. "What is it?" she muses around the cigarette, cocking a brow his way.
Jungkook sighs, a long, heavy sigh that had been sitting between his ribs for a while now. "Thinkin'…"
She huffs, her serene expression doing little to mimic the conflicting feelings inside of him. "Uh-oh, that's never a good thing," Yelena drawls and he resists the urge to roll his eyes, instead muttering a quiet 'shut the fuck up' as he inhales.
Silence falls over their small bedroom and by the time Jungkook finally speaks again, she's already finished the cigarette and put it out on the tray atop the bedside table. "Just— This," he gestures to the pale walls, the uneven floorboards and their rumpled sheets, "It's not enough."
Yelena says nothing, but her lack of response only fuels him on. He peers up at her from where he lays, her brown irises reflecting in the afternoon sun, lips slightly parted in a question she has yet to ask.
"I'm going to give you a good life," Jungkook states.
She frowns, still slightly dazed from the moment they'd shared but conscious enough to pick up on what he was saying. "You already have," she turns to lay beside him, cheek propped up on her palm.
Jungkook shakes his head, "Not good enough." The paycheck he received from slaving away at the gas station covered rent and then some. It was hardly a lavish life, and he knew that the small flat was eating away at Yelena, even if she never voiced it out loud.
His arm hooks around her naked waist, pulling a squeal from her as he tugs her closer. Then he rolls on top of her, elbows bent as his lips brush hers. "I want to give you a real house," he murmurs between lazy kisses, "A big one."
Yelena giggles beneath him, her hands finding their way to the back of his neck. "With white picket fences?" she wonders, there's a playful edge to the way she says it — but Jungkook is being dead serious.
"Yes," he presses another kiss to her lips, "Sparkling chandeliers, a fireplace in the living room." He trails his affection to her jaw, tasting the sweat that still clings to her skin, "A large dining table, our own master bedroom…" His mouth finds her neck, breath ghosting over the marks he'd previously left.
The idea blooms in his mind with each passing beat of his heart and he becomes surer of himself. "Would you like that?" He leans back enough to meet her gaze, and fuck, if she wasn't the most beautiful thing he'd ever laid his eyes upon.
Yelena smiles, wide enough for her face to crinkle and her teeth to be put on display. "Yeah," she whispers, "I'd love that."
It took him less than a second to join their lips together in a kiss full of hope. For a brief moment, he allows himself to believe that he could do more — be better — for her. Tomorrow seems far away, the floors that need to be mopped and the pumps he'll be resetting would not be his future, that much he's sure of.
Jungkook wasn't a man of many talents. He'd tried to get into music once, begged his father to buy him an electric guitar only to quit after two weeks when he'd accidently snapped one of its strings. Painting was fun, for about three hours, until the color ended up bleeding through the canvas and he was left a frustrated mess. Then there had been chess, soccer, basketball, hell, he'd even tried gardening only for the plants to die under his care.
One thing Jungkook did possess some know-how for — was tech. Nothing of the extreme sort. He would fix the antenna on the TV at home whenever it started acting up, re-wire the landline to better the sound quality for his mother, he'd even built in a custom speaker into his 8-track to enjoy even louder music.
He figured that if there was one thing he might've had at least half a shot at, then it would be this. Long nights were spent sketching new models for the already advancing technology. Yelena had whined when he picked apart their landline a third time that week — though Jungkook insisted that he needed to figure out exactly how each part connected.
It was a tedious process, crumpled papers littering the bedroom as he sat with a pen in one hand and a cigarette in the other, frantically trying to come up with improvements. And after a month of hard labor he thought he'd gotten a decent grasp on it. He consulted Yelena about some of his ideas, she said they were bound to be a success!
Feeling rather confident after his girlfriend's praise, Jungkook had built up the courage to pitch said ideas to a few investors. He'd borrowed a suit from his father, combed his unruly hair back, even wiped the charcoal off his eyes.
When walking across the marbled floor with the dress pants digging into his thighs and the cufflinks snug around his wrists, Jungkook felt like an imposter. He knew little about the corporate world and as he eyed the others in the lobby, he noticed their straightened postures and refined edges, nothing like that of his lazy slouch.
No one spoke, which suited Jungkook just fine and he got comfortable on one of the unoccupied couches. There he tried to mimic their stance, though ultimately gave up and let his shoulders sag again.
He lets his eyes wander across the rather futuristic interior. The grey walls were textured to replicate that of stone. Three spheres hung from the high ceiling, their shiny surfaces reflecting him where he sat cross-legged on the low, orange seat. They cost a fortune no doubt, as the rest of the place did.
To his left there was greenery, a large ficus tree. He reached out to trap one of its leaves between his index and middle finger, only to be disappointed when he found that it was plastic. Turning his attention back to his hands, he instead gets to thinking about his next tattoo, he'd like something on his knuckles.
A clock ticks slowly in the distance, interfering his thoughts and soon Jungkook finds himself counting each second in small groups of ten. Ten seconds here, ten seconds there. Six of those made a minute — a dozen made two. Three dozen of them later, the door across the room slid open.
Out came a bitter-looking woman in a pencil skirt. She struts forward, heels clacking against the marble tiles, demanding everyone's attention as she comes to a halt before the cluster of sofas. Then she clears her throat loudly with a 'hmpf' sound, adjusting the clipboard in her hand as she pushes the glasses higher on her nose.
"Gentlemen," her voice is short and clipped, and she seems to hold no one in regard when she speaks. "How fortunate that you're all here," it came out sarcastically, "You'll have five minutes in there each — don't whine for more time." A scribbling noise follows as she jots something down on the clipboard, drawing a harsh line across it before her eyes turn to peer out over the candidates.
"Mr. Jeon, welcome inside first."
The room beyond the door was much darker than the lobby. With only a small overhead light bulb to illuminate the spot he stood under. To his right there was a chalkboard intended for his use, Jungkook hesitated as he eyed it. Across from him was a long table, holding five men in suits. They looked to be in their fifties, possibly early sixties.
Their conversation was a hushed murmur as they sipped on their coffee and aimlessly flipped through papers. No one seems to have noticed his arrival and if they had, they simply paid him no mind. The clock sounds somewhere behind him, a reminder that time was dire and Jungkook took a small step forward.
"Hello—" he cringes at how unsure he sounds, "My name is Jungkook. I'm here to…"
Neither of the men had paused to as much as glance in his direction, all of them occupied with whatever matter was being discussed over their morning coffee. He studies them for a long while, gaze narrowing as he follows the movement of their lips, a muscle in his jaw ticking each time they flick their tongues against the roof of their mouths — their skin pulling taut whenever they grinned to show off yellow-stained teeth.
The mugs and papers on the table rattle when Jungkook slams his briefcase down on it, effectively drawing all eyes to himself. Not one of them had seen him storm up to where they sat, not one of them seems to have expected it either. He bites back a sneer, shoving the thoughts aside as he clears his throat.
"Ah, who do we have here?" The man who sits in the middle finally acknowledges him as he leans back in his seat. He looks to be the oldest of the bunch, the mustache above his top lip had begun graying slightly. His dull eyes scan Jungkook up and down with little care as he twists a ballpoint pen between his fingers.
Jungkook straightens up, towering over them all where he stands — it hardly provided any comfort. "Jeon Jungkook, sir." The formality tastes foul but he forces it out anyway.
The man nods, glancing toward the briefcase unenthusiastically. "And what do you have for us today?" He sounds bored already, not a great start. The others have yet to speak but at least they were no longer ignoring his presence.
There's a moment where he hesitates, fingers curling around the handle of the briefcase he'd so carelessly thrown onto the table. The metal latches come undone as Jungkook opens the case, turning it around to show the contents inside.
All five men lean forward, brows furrowing across their foreheads. "What is the meaning of this?" The one to the left asks as he lifts his gaze.
Jungkook gestures to the ordinary looking landline he'd brought along with him, then to the wires and copper hardware laying beside it. "It goes inside your telephone, sir." He forces a small smile that doesn't feel at all genuine, "It's a built in sound monitor, meaning you'll get a variety of ring tones other than the standard one."
He'd tried it out for himself back home. Rather than the obnoxious shrill that most people had become so accustomed to, it now gave a pleasant, synth-like signal whenever a call was received. He presses the button labeled 'zero' twice and a simple melody begins playing. It fills the space between them all for a full minute, and Jungkook gauges their reactions closely — which was damn near impossible as they remained carefully neutral.
When it comes to an end he swallows, one finger still hovering above the button without pushing down.
The man who'd originally made the inquiry lets out a sharp breath that comes across as half a laugh, and not a kind one. The rest send each other pointed glances, their attention returning to the piece of hardware and telephone inside the suitcase. He did not know if they liked it or not but he'd already wasted more than half his time by showing it off, so he continues briskly, trying not to let their scrutinizing glances bother him.
"Replacing the ringer current with this installment provides five different sounds which can be altered to your liking. The copper line attaches just as the traditional one would with 90 volts but I believe that it's possible to tweak the quality of—"
"Listen kid," the man in the middle stretched in his seat. The ballpoint pen dropped slightly between his fingers before he picked it up again. "Getting to pick a song you fancy is cute and all, I mean, what you showed was nice. But there's no money in it." He strokes his mustache, pretending to think it over once more though he hadn't as much as peeked at the mechanism a second time.
His brows twitch and Jungkook rolls his shoulders as he bites back a snide comment. "There could be. If it was marketed right then surely—"
"Marketing," the man sighs, "Costs money." He reaches forward to close the briefcase once more. "And I suppose you've thought of how to work around that?"
To that Jungkook can only shake his head. He'd been so caught up developing the new feature that the thought of launching it to the public hadn't crossed his mind. But how hard could it be — just print it on a few posters to garner interest, no?
The man, however, seems far from impressed. "Advertising it would cost more than its worth," he says, "As would mass production. No one is going out of their way to spend money on a giddy ringtone, especially not with the current state of our economy."
He taps the blunt end of his pen against the briefcase, "You've got bright ideas kid. But it won't make business." Nudging the case back toward Jungkook, he stifles a yawn. "Don't waste your time on aesthetics and do something useful instead, will you?" The other men huff under their breaths, amused smirks playing on their lips, some of them even commenting on the 'silly' melody.
Jungkook forces the objection down his throat when the door behind him opens, signaling that his time was up. He says nothing when snatching the briefcase back, sealing it up and turning on his heel to leave.
Yelena hadn't commented on his slumped shoulders or prolonged silence when he returned home. She simply kissed his cheek and told him that he'd have more luck next time. Ironic, Jungkook thought but held his tongue.
He sat on the edge of the bed for a long while that night, the copper wires and software he'd spent a month carefully crafting resting in his palms. It looks pathetic. He thumbs the corner of the hardware idly, scoffing to himself before curling his fingers around it.
"Aesthetics," he mutters to himself before hurling it against the wall.
Jungkook spends the next couple of weeks picking up more shifts at the gas station. He monitors pumps, deals with drunks by the register who try to bargain for their fuel, restocks shelves and scrubs floors. Each day weighs on him harder than the last. And whenever he wasn't working he was moping in the apartment, chugging beer like it was water.
Christmas comes and goes, the new year begins and soon spring was in full bloom. He thinks that he might just be promoted to manager at the station if he keeps this up. His parents surely thought him a failure — he knew that he was — even so, they said nothing. Perhaps they were happy enough that he was at least attempting to make a living for himself and Yelena.
Yelena.
Jungkook thinks she might be the only thing that gets him through the long hours behind the counter. Whenever the sky seems particularly dull or the thought of resigning becomes too tempting, he always imagines coming home to her. To find her on the couch, sketching new costume designs and chatting away eagerly about the new fabrics they had gotten in for the month.
Her studies were important to her — her path in life was set straight. Sometimes Jungkook felt as though he was merely following wherever the tides took her as he scrambled to keep up. The idea doesn't bother him as much as it should, before her there had been no reason to do anything but smoke his days away.
Within Yelena he found his purpose.
That's why his heart had dropped to his knees when he found her curled into a ball on the bathroom floor that one late evening in March. He'd returned home from another long and dreary shift monitoring pumps and sorting shelves, calling out for his girlfriend when stepping through the front door — only to be met with silence.
Yelena would always greet him with a kiss on the cheek as she wrapped her arms around his neck, adding on to the long list as to why Jungkook knew he wanted to marry her one day. But that night — the flat had been silent.
Jungkook kicked off his shoes and ventured through the living room. "Baby?" he calls, half-expecting her to launch herself at him from whatever corner she'd been hiding in. Instead the one response he gets are the muffled sobs coming from the bathroom down the hall.
He moves without thinking, bursting through the door with enough force to have it slam against the wall. "Baby!" He's prepared himself for the worst, at least so he tells himself. But seeing her like this — with her arms hugging her knees to her chest, choking on her own tears as she buries her face against the fabric of her pants — it breaks something in him.
Gaze scanning the area frantically for the culprit of whatever had upset her, he comes to a stop when he catches sight of the pregnancy test sitting on the counter. Jungkook wasn't a complete moron, the red circle conveyed the exact reason for his girlfriend's distress and he sank to his knees beside her, joining her on the tiled floor.
"I don't know what to do…" She manages to croak when he pulls her to his chest. Yelena's voice was always so bright and full of confidence. Now it sounds small. She trembles against him, fingers clutching weakly at his shirt as she continues to ramble incoherently, "I-I mean, I'm still in school and I can't just— We can't just…"
Jungkook is only half listening to what she says. His thoughts have already wandered into territory which they had never before explored. He imagines what this would mean for the two of them, a child, something of their own. The thought of becoming a father terrified him, fuck, he was a terrible role model. Barely took care of himself, how on earth was he supposed to set his own kid straight?
And yet, he can't deny the way his heart flutters when he sees the look in Yelena's eyes, glossed over with tears — though he weren't so sure they were sad anymore. "I love her terribly already," she admits in a quiet whisper. Jungkook's brain short circuits and he tilts her head back with a puzzled frown.
"Her?"
Yelena nods, the corner of her lip twitching into the ghost of that stupid smile he adored so much. "Just a gut feeling," she murmurs with a shrug.
A gut feeling… Jungkook considers her words, his fingers stroking the line of her jaw carefully. A baby girl. Their baby girl. His entire being shifts in a new direction and he swallows to try and combat his suddenly dry throat. "What do you want to do?" He quietly asks, keeping his tone as neutral as he can, though the hesitation betrays his hope.
She draws in a long breath, blinking slowly before moving her eyes up to meet his, "I want to keep her."
Jungkook tries to ignore the fireworks going off inside of him as he leans in to let his nose brush against hers. "Then we will," he does not know where the sudden surge of confidence had come from, but he seizes the moment and presses his lips to hers in a tender kiss.
Her doubt becomes evident in the way she slowly reciprocates the gesture, he knew her well enough to practically be able to hear the thoughts swirling inside her head.
When they pull back he lets his forehead rest against hers, finding her gaze through heavy lids. "I'll figure it out. The money, the house, everything." His knuckles brush her cheek, the promise lingering between them, and Jungkook prays that he can make good on it.
Yelena nods, allowing him to pull her in for another kiss, his next words a mere breath on her tongue:
"I'll make it work."
Yelena was fast asleep by the time Jungkook pulled his hoodie on that night. The moonlight spilled through the window, illuminating her figure under the covers as she rests quietly. He tucks the blanket over her shoulders, leaning down to press a lingering kiss to her forehead in a wordless goodbye.
He pads soundlessly across the floor, stopping once he reaches the threshold to their bedroom. Allowing himself one final glance at her peaceful face with the promise he'd made weighing heavy on his heart — Jungkook then slips out of their apartment without hesitation.
The streets are vacant after midnight and he makes his way down the pavement slowly. He has no real plan, wandering aimlessly past closed shops and empty benches. His hands rest within the front pocket of the large hoodie, March is unforgiving and cold, he should've brought a jacket, he thinks. But he doesn't turn back around, he can't, not until he's figured out what to do.
Maybe he could pick up a second job? Then again, he was already spending each waking second at the gas station. He would have to sacrifice sleep all together if he wanted to save up enough to move Yelena out of that shitty flat.
He comes to a halt under one of the streetlights, fingers slipping into the front pocket of his jeans to curl around the lighter he always kept on him. Tongue darting out to wet his dry lips, his other hand fishes out the pack of cigarettes. He plucks one out, flicks the lighter once, casting a flame which he shields with his palm.
But he never lights it.
His mind strays by the pregnancy test, still sitting on the bathroom counter, the one that had changed the trajectory of his life just a couple of hours ago. Jungkook could be a father a year from now — responsible for a life beyond his own. He twirls the cigarette between two fingers with a frown. Then he tosses the entire pack into the nearest bin and keeps walking.
He's made it a couple of blocks when the first droplet lands on his cheek, the next one on the tip of his nose. The rain picks up the longer he walks, turning from a soft patter to a steady fall. It soaks through his clothes and he pulls the hood over his head to little avail.
The pavement turns shiny, reflecting the street lights in blurry patches. Water splatters beneath the soles of his shoes as he trudges forward, disobeying the wind's harsh tugs as it tries to pull him back.
He rounds a corner a while later, coming face to face with a tall building he recognizes with contempt. Its big windows, illuminated entrance sign, the men in suits, their frowns and sneers, their rejection that still wounds his pride to acknowledge. He stands there for a long moment, studying the large empire with a scrutinizing glare.
One day, he thinks to himself. One day he'll prove those self righteous assholes wrong. "Fuckin' aesthetics my ass," he spits before turning away.
Jungkook is soaked from head to toe when he reaches the next big street crossing. The lights are blaring red but not a single car has passed him since he set out over an hour ago. He keeps his feet on the white lines when he makes his way across, counting them under his breath.
"One, two, three… Seven, eight, nine…" He frowns when reaching the last one, stomping his left foot against it once to make up for the road's lack of decency by ending on an uneven number. He mulls over this for a couple of seconds as he makes his way onto the sidewalk, and it's not until he finally lifts his gaze that he sees it.
It's right there — squeezed between the laundromat and the bakery. Its empty display window and worn door calling to him like a siren would her sailor.
He steps forward, halting by the large window where he's greeted with his own sullen reflection. Jungkook looks like shit but does not dwell on it, no, his attention is captured by the crooked sign stuck to the inside of the glass. He reads it once, twice, just to be sure: "FOR RENT."
At first he shrugs the idea off. He couldn't afford to gamble like that, hell, he barely made enough at the gas station to cover his and Yelena's expenses, much less something like this. Yet his feet refuse to move, keeping him rooted to the spot as he squints against the harsh rain.
The space was small but it would surely do. There was a counter to the left, another door which looked like it lead into a storage room of sorts. He could put up shelves on his own, maybe— No. He shakes his head but his eyes are already going over the number attached to the sign, memorizing the sequence without meaning to.
There's a phone booth down the street and despite the late hour he heads for it, cutting the distance in less than ten long strides. He seeks refuge from the rain, wet fingers slipping against the buttons as he dials for the only person he could think to reach for in the moment.
The line rings for a full minute and he's forced to listen to the static noise as he presses the handset to his ear. His teeth have torn the flesh of his bottom lip apart by the time the call connects and a familiar voice fills the small space he stands in.
"Do you have any idea what time it is?" His words are groggy with sleep and a pang of guilt twists in Jungkook's chest at the chiding tone that was used.
"Father I—" he turns to the empty display window and swallows, "I need a favor."
Jungkook feels a strange sense of pride as he twists the keys in the lock a week later and steps inside his store for the first time. With the help of his parents he'd been able to place a down payment on the first three months' rent and while the space could use some sprucing up — it would get the job done.
He spends his evenings off work cleaning the place, dusting off empty shelves and mopping floors — something he'd gotten very good at might he add. Yelena came to lend a hand, her artistic skills coming in clutch where his lacked. She helped him print a makeshift sign which they hung in the display window and that very next Monday he was proudly able to open the doors to 'Jeon Electronics Repair and Part Distributions.'
"You sure about this?" Yelena had asked as she watched him get dressed that morning. She'd personally tailored his clothes for him, sewing on a logo they had come up with together onto the chest part.
Jungkook nodded, combing his hair back with extra care as he peered at himself in the mirror. "As sure as I'll ever be," he'd said. And even though his palms were clammy with sweat and his heart racing in his chest — he knew that it was the truth.
The shop opened early that morning, when the streets were littered with people all rushing to their 9-5. Jungkook watches as they pass by through the large window, busying himself with rearranging the TVs and landlines which he'd decorated the shelves with.
He checks the time, 8:17 am. Seventeen minutes. His fingers tap against the counter when he retakes his place behind it, waiting anxiously for his first customer. By noon the store had been void of people, save for himself. Yelena brought him lunch on her break from class. When she asked how things were going he'd lied.
The first few days were rough, horrible even. The hours went by without a single interruption and Jungkook grew all the more restless as time progressed. He'd managed to negotiate his hours at the gas station to weekends and nights — which wasn't ideal but he knew that he couldn't afford to give up the treacherous job just yet.
Stubborn as he was, he returned Monday through Friday during that first week, flipping the open sign with more force for each day. He saw less and less of Yelena, only managing a brief thirty minutes during dinner time before he had to leave for his shift.
She never pointed out the bags under his eyes, or the fact that he had yet to mention any sort of success within his new career path. But Jungkook knew that she was thinking long and hard about him at night, he would find her tossing and turning in bed whenever he returned home at dawn, managing a quick nap before setting out to work again.
By Wednesday during his second week, time began to blur. His lack of proper sleep was quickly catching up and the ringing silence of his small shop easily lulled him into slumber, leaving him to doze off by the counter more than often. Had he been better rested, he might've heard the door chime that afternoon. Instead, the voice of an older woman is what brings him back to life.
"Excuse me—"
The light tap to his shoulder jolts him awake, his head snapping up from where it had been lolling against his folded arms. With bleary eyes he squints against the harsh light, blinking rapidly as the lady before him floats into vision. The sun behind her reflects off her back, casting a halo around her frame, making her look just like like the saint he'd been waiting for all along.
Jungkook clears his throat, straightening up despite the protests of his aching limbs. "Uh— Yes, hello." He rubs a sheepish hand across the nape of his neck.
His first customer was a woman in her late forties. With short, black hair in a bob, clad in a long, navy coat that reaches to her knees. Her freshly painted bottom lip is trapped between her teeth, eyes flitting around the shop. "I saw the sign and…" she hesitates, "Do you think you could take a look at this for me?"
It's then he notices the landline she clutches tightly in both hands. He blinks once, mentally slapping himself to make sure that she was real, that this was actually happening. "Yeah— Sure, no problem." He's quick to slip back into the service role he'd developed during his shifts at the gas station as he retrieves the black box from her.
"What seems to be the problem?" he asks when turning the telephone over in his palms.
The lady hums and tucks a piece of hair behind her ear. "Well, it keeps cutting in and out whenever I make calls. My husband tried to mend it but I have a feeling he's just made it worse…"
Jungkook nods, all too familiar with his father trying to get the TV at home to work by smacking the entire thing a couple of times before getting frustrated. He pinches the cord between two fingers, "It could be a faulty handset, or perhaps a damaged patch cable."
His diagnosis is followed by silence and when he glances up he finds the woman regarding him with a puzzled frown. "It's an easy fix," he says, the corner of his mouth tugging into a lopsided grin.
"Really?" she wonders, hope striking her features, "You don't think I'll need to purchase a new one?"
He shakes his head confidently, "Not at all. I'll need an hour or so if that's okay." Leaning over the counter, he points to the window, "There's a cafe just across the street if you'd like to wait around nearby."
The lady sighs in relief, some of tension ebbing away from her stiff posture as she nods. "Okay, I'll do that." She bids him farewell and Jungkook listens for the sound of her departure before turning to the landline in front of him.
With no proper education on things like this, he figured he would just have to work with the knowledge he already had. He'd messed with the cords to the handset at home a handful of times and after spending over a month picking stuff like this apart to peer inside, he felt he had a good grasp on things.
The world outside keeps moving, people pass by the display window as they talk eagerly among themselves, the sun moving lower across the sky. But the air inside his workshop remains peaceful, the reigning silence interrupted only by the sounds of him screwing the handset apart to locate the issue.
Just as he presumed, one of the wires had nearly burnt through. Replacing it would erase the problem again. He heads over to the small storage unit where he kept the spares he'd bought with what was left of the money his father lent him.
When ruffling through the box of copper, however, his attention catches on the same hardware he'd developed a couple of weeks back. The rejection he'd faced by the investors still makes him frown, their words tasting bitter in his mouth. Aesthetics. Cute. He pinches the wire he'll be needing, turning back to the door which he'd come through just a minute ago.
But before he can walk out of the room, he pauses. He throws a glance over his shoulder, jaw clenching as he battles himself. His free hand closes into a fist before releasing again and Jungkook exhales a sharp breath. Without stopping to question his next course of action, he grabs the hardware and heads out to patch up the phone waiting on the counter.
The lady returns just as they agreed upon an hour later. She pauses when she finds that her landline looked no different than it had when she dropped it off. "Is it.." pointing toward it with a subtle frown, "Is it fixed?"
Jungkook gives a tilt of his chin, "Should be good as new. Why don't you try calling someone?"
She hesitates for a second before picking up the handset and bringing it to her ear. Her polished nail moves across the buttons as she dials a number familiar to her, letting it ring for a while before it connects. "Hello— Hi honey," she pauses, "Oh no. I'm at the workshop, the guy here just got it fixed for us."
Whilst listening to, who Jungkook presumes to be her husband, on the other end, she sends him a small smile which he returns — oddly enough. People had never been his thing, but seeing the sweet lady's face light up at the prospect of her beloved telephone working again — a result of his work — does something to him.
"No it's not cutting out at all, it's wonderful! Yes I'll let you know when I'm home— are you working late? Ah okay."
She finishes the call with a shy tilt of her lips. "Thank you," she says, already reaching for her purse in order to pay when Jungkook suddenly remembers himself.
"Oh, right!" he stops her halfway, "I've added something for you." Reaching for the box, he presses the button displaying the 'zero' with two quick taps. Shortly after, a soft tune begins to play. It fills the small shop, the synth a lot more pleasant than the regular high-pitched shrill the landlines would make.
"It's a custom ring tone," he explains, "The hardware has five different tracks installed, you alter between them by pressing this button twice, a little tedious but it gets the job done." He swallows as he lifts his gaze to meet hers, anxiously awaiting her verdict. If she hated it then he was bound to be out of business by the end of the day.
But the woman seems strangely enamored by this new revelation. "Really?" she tries the feature for herself, "And I can change them myself?"
Jungkook nods, "Yeah, anyone can do it."
She hums a soft 'Ah, I see' leaning forward to inspect this new addition closer. The tune comes to a gentle end, leaving the two of them in silence once more. "Do I have to pay extra for this?" she wonders as her brows knit together.
"No, no," Jungkook blurts when scratching the top of his head, "I added it without consulting you first so it's free of charge."
The lady smiles, "This is amazing actually." She tries another of the tracks he'd installed, a look of amusement on her face, "I've never seen anything quite like it."
She takes her leave shortly after and Jungkook exhales a breath as he slumps back against the counter. He counts the bills she left him — $20 — it wasn't enough for a house with white picket fences, but it was surely a start.
Jungkook was rather surprised to find a short, chubby man waiting by the front of his workshop when he arrived at 7:50 am that very next morning. He was peering through the display window, thick brows furrowed deeply across his forehead. When he noticed Jungkook in the reflection he turned to him. His round face lit up, "Hello there," he says, greeting the other with a firm handshake.
Glancing down at their joint hands, Jungkook blinks in surprise. "Hello…" he nods, "Can I uh help you?" Part of him wants to let the man know that the shop wasn't actually open yet, as though the big fat 'CLOSED' sign that hung on the door wasn't evidence enough. Though this was merely his second customer, turning him away would be bad for business, he thinks.
The man nods, "Yes actually—" he cuts himself off as he reaches inside the bag he'd been carrying, fishing out a telephone box of the same model Jungkook had repaired just a day ago. "A colleague of mine told me that his wife had been here yesterday. He mentioned that she had a new set of ringtones installed. He explained them to be quite pleasant and you see the regular one makes my head ache terribly." Waving a dismissive hand to nothing in particular, he then turns to peer up at Jungkook with hopeful eyes, "Say— How much do you charge for the feature?"
That week Jungkook had kept the store open Saturday through Sunday as well, pulling in more customers due to the unconventional hours. He'd made over $200 in the span of four days which was enough to boost his confidence and keep him going into the next week.
The door chime went off more times than he could count, people were spilling in from the streets faster than he was able to keep up. Most of them came in for simple repairs, a few through recommendations from friends and colleagues who had paid for his services before.
His days were spent behind the counter, quick trips back and forth to the storage unit as he picked apart everything from landlines to heavy TVs that people somehow managed to haul all the way to his store. Often he would tweak the existing hardware, complimenting it with new, smarter and quicker features.
"You adjust the volume with this one," Jungkook explained to the frowning man in front of him.
He was turning a small remote control in his hands, accompanied by two simple buttons. "I can do it from the couch?" the man quires behind his bushy mustache. There was quiet hesitation lacing his question, like he thought the idea too good to be true.
But Jungkook simply took the liberty of showing the man himself. He plugged the TV in, flicking on the first channel he came across before upping the volume with the simple remote control. "As long as you remain within range of the antenna it'll be fine," he explains when lowering the blaring sound effects of the cartoons playing.
The man's furrowed brows had raised high enough on his head for Jungkook to get a good look at his eyes for the first time. "Indeed, this is extraordinary," he mused when taking the controller, testing the adjustments for himself. Before leaving he had shook Jungkook's hand with both of his, tipping him generously for his work.
When the three month lease was up he'd made enough money to rent the place on his own. His job at the gas station was abandoned in favor of tending to his workshop — which was growing rapidly. Word spread quickly and all the more customers turned up on his doorstep, everyone eager to purchase the new installments he exclusively provided.
As time passed Yelena grew all the more pregnant. She had put her studies on hold and was helping out around the shop as often as she could — even when Jungkook was breathing down her neck about giving it a rest and thinking about herself and the baby.
"I've got it covered," he would say as they ate lunch together behind the counter, "You should be taking it easy." His gaze dropped to the round swell of her stomach, fingers reaching out to brush absently over the bump before pressing his palm flat against it.
"I'm fine," she insisted, "Besides, I feel useless just sitting around at home all day."
Jungkook hums, setting his unfinished chicken wrap down before sinking to his knees before her. Above him, Yelena protests, but he's hearing none of it. "Hey kid," his breath hovers above the fabric of her shirt, the material stretched thin to accommodate the life growing beneath. "Tell your mom to quit bein' so stubborn," he mumbles against the curve of her belly, "She's giving us both a headache."
"Jungkook! Get up!" she hisses, "Customers could walk in and—"
"Shh, shh," he hushes her with a press of his lips to the center of her stomach. "You hear that? There she goes again, always worrying about something." The scoff she emits only makes him smile and he nuzzles against her, inhaling the familiar and comforting scent of her perfume like a man starved.
"Daddy's got everything covered, needn't to worry about a thing."
"Geez, you're spoiling her already," she says, though there was no bite to her words.
Jungkook hums, "Can't help it. She'll be my princess, I intend to treat her as such."
"Princess, huh? What does that make me?"
He grins, tilting his head back enough to peer up at her through his lashes, "My queen, of course." Fingers lacing with hers, he brings her hand to his mouth, placing a gentle kiss to her knuckles with reverent care, "Whom I intend to worship until my days on this earth are over."
Yelena giggles at that, the curly ends of her hair bouncing as she shakes her head. "You're fucking ridiculous you know that?"
"Yeah," he agrees with another press of his lips, "Ridiculously in love."
Then came the day that would change his life forever.
On a dark and dreary December night, just as the first snow had fallen — a faint cry had pierced the air inside the hospital room.
Jungkook was kneeling by Yelena's side, her hand squeezed tightly in his as she fought through the pain with agonized yells. Each sound cut through his chest likes knifes, panic settling deep within his gut at the sight of the woman he loved, suffering like this.
"It's okay, I'm here baby—" his voice is barely heard over her gasps and Jungkook feels truly helpless as he brushes a strand of her from her sheen forehead. "You're doing so good," he tries to soothe her but Yelena isn't listening.
"Almost there," one of the nurses sat between her legs says. Her calm demeanor only throws him off further, how could she just smile when his girlfriend was in excruciating pain? "One more push," she encourages.
Yelena's next scream has him resting his forehead against her shoulders, eyes screwing shut as he prays for her suffering to come to an end. He feels her body tense up against him, the blunt ends of her nails tearing through his skin as she clings to him. Jungkook lets her, his free hand keeping a white-knuckled grip on the bed sheets as he listens to her whimpers.
Then it all stops.
The room goes silent and Yelena's fingers go slack in his hold. He doesn't dare open his eyes, doesn't even dare lift himself up as he swallows thickly. But his ears betray him, the second that first unmistakable cry reaches him, he locks up.
"Congratulations," the nurse's cheerful tone is barely audible, "You have a beautiful daughter."
Jungkook's head whips in her direction, his gaze falling on the red, squirming human in her arms. She's covered in blood which the assistant nurse quickly wipes from her face before wrapping her up in blue cloth. He feels his throat dry up, all the color draining from his face as he fixates on the tiny life.
"Do you want to hold her?"
"W-What?" he croaks, blinking as he peers up at the nurse who'd walked over to where he sits on the floor. "Me? I don't know—" But he's already on his feet, hands awkwardly outstretched, not knowing what the hell to do with them.
The nurse, however, doesn't hesitate as she places the small bundle in his arms. The moment he gets to hold her for the first time he feels his knees buckle. His first thought was that she was tiny, barely the size of his forearm. The second was how utterly beautiful she looks.
Her face is scrunched up, her cries now silent as she wriggles around in his embrace. One of her arms had managed to slip free from the blanket and Jungkook's first instinct is to reach out. Her hand meets his index finger, warm to the touch as she clings to something she cannot yet see.
"She's…" he trails off, unable to finish whatever sentence may have waited on his tongue. Instead, he brings her closer, letting that same little hand reach for his jaw, then his cheek. His vision blurs with tears that he does nothing to hide, allowing them to fall silently.
For all that Jungkook was — he suddenly felt lost. The only thing he knew for certain was that she was his. His to love and his to protect.
Yelena shifts slightly on the bed, letting out an exhausted sigh that has him turning to her in an instant. "Are you okay?" he reaches for her, a trembling hand finding hers as he tries to take back control over the emotions swirling within him.
She nods, a content smile playing on her lips. "Never been better," she says, her tired eyes flickering to their daughter. The nurse steps back in, gently moving the squirming baby over to Yelena, adjusting her against her mother's chest. Yelena embraces her like it was the most natural thing in the world, and Jungkook feels his heart grow double its size in his chest.
He's back on his knees in a flash, crowding them both on the bed as he hovers as close as he can. "She looks like you," he murmurs, not knowing where he was finding the words for his mind was a mess by this point.
Yelena chuckles, "You can tell already?"
"Yes," he breathes. Just then, she finally opens her eyes, not a lot, a few careful blinks against the harsh and sterile overhead lights. But in them he sees the exact same warmth that had made him fall in love with her mother in the first place, "she's got your eyes."
Their daughter makes a small noise, wriggling slightly before settling again, and Jungkook tracks each movement with microscopic precision, refusing to miss as much as a beat.
"Do you have any names in mind?" the assistant nurse asks.
Jungkook frowns, him and Yelena had discussed a few back and forth — none of them really sticking. Though there was one that stood out. She thought it was pretty, a name fit for a princess. He thought it reminded him of morning rain, when the world was still quiet and gentle.
Yelena gives him a small nod and Jungkook turns to the nurse, unable to keep the smile from his lips.
"Rayne."
Taking care of a kid was a lot harder than it looked. It came with no instruction manual and was a lot more hands-on than he could have ever imagined. The first couple of weeks back home with Rayne were filled with sleepless nights. Him and Yelena would take turns rolling out of bed to go soothe their crying daughter.
"Baby," Yelena groaned as she tucked her face into the crook of his neck, "It's your night." And Jungkook would heave a sigh, nodding as he forced himself up and over to the little crib they had placed by the foot of their bed.
Sometimes it would take minutes for her to fall back asleep, others he could spend a full hour rocking her back and forth, walking laps around the small flat and running his fingers through his hair. "Shh, just— Hush," he'd whisper to his crying girl, not that it ever helped — in fact it only seemed to make her cry louder.
But when she wasn't ruining his chances of sleep, Rayne was the best thing that had ever happened to him. Jungkook found himself by her crib whenever work wasn't keeping him away. He talked to her, let her wrap her tiny hand around his finger. Most of all he loved the way she smelled — loved burying his nose in what little hair sat atop her head and simply breathe in. Yelena would laugh and call him silly, Jungkook never minded.
He'd never thought of himself as a family man. But seeing the two of them together made him realize that he couldn't possibly wish for another outcome. Yelena was a perfect mother, and though she knew just as little about this as him, she took on her role with confidence.
Each time he caught sight of her on the couch, with Rayne in her arms as she spoke to her so lovingly — his heart stumbled over its next beat. The world as he knew it had changed, now his daughter and the woman of his dreams were the only two that mattered.
It didn't take long for Jungkook to realize that their current apartment was far too small for them. This wasn't a home fit for a growing family, least of all for Rayne. He wanted her to grow up someplace better. Where she could learn to take her first steps, say her first words and safely play with all the toys he intended to buy for her.
His business, however, was taking off in tandem with his daughter's teeth growing in. The small little workshop had been upgraded to a larger one and he'd even been able to to afford his first two hires. Having extra hand around the place meant more customers, and more customers meant more money. By the time Rayne was six months old — Jungkook had scraped together enough to put down a deposit on a house he'd been eyeing for a while.
"Can I open them yet?" Yelena had asked whilst being blindly led down the street.
"Not yet," he mused, fighting off a stupid grin as they came to a halt before the gate. He savored the moment a second longer, then he let his hands drop to his sides, "Now."
Taking a step to the side so to better read her expression, he watched as Yelena's gaze fell on their new home for the first time. It was a large, three-story house with bright walls and big windows that allowed for the sun to spill inside.
Jungkook had been fantasizing about owning a property in this neighborhood ever since they first got their old apartment. And after much hard work, he'd finally made it possible.
"Oh my—" Yelena presses a hand over her mouth, tears welling in her eyes even though she had yet to step inside. Her attention drops to the gate they stand by, fingers brushing the railing. "A white picket fence," she murmurs, glancing toward where it looped around the entire front yard. Nothing else came out of her mouth, rendered speechless by the same house they'd dreamed of together.
"Wait until you see the kitchen," Jungkook grinned, already grabbing her by the hand as he led her up the graveled path to the porch.
They settled in immediately and got to decorating the space. Yelena had always possessed more of an artistic touch than him, and he was happy to let her take the wheel as she ordered furniture and picked out tapestry. The same big chandeliers they had discussed back then were hung up in every room, sparkling in the morning rays.
Jungkook knew that this would be his forever home. This would be the place where he and Yelena grew old together, where he would wake up by her side decades from now, still kissing her cheek and basking in a love that never died.
For a long while things stayed that way.
Yelena finished school and went on to open her own clothing store, with the help of Jungkook, who now considered himself a businessman. He himself, had been able to rent an entire floor in one of those ridiculously large skyscraper buildings — his office. Yelena had been there on opening day, insisting on cutting a red ribbon to make it official. He went along with it because he found her endearing.
There was no longer a need to worry about money, about rent or whatever the future might hold. He simply devoted his days to the mother of his child, spending each second soaking up all the love he felt but never knew quite how to put into words. Suppose that's why his proposal had them both giggling over each other's sentences.
Jungkook had known that he wanted to marry Yelena for nearly four years. Though he'd held off until the time was right — until he could proudly ask for her hand and promise her his life.
He took her to dinner, to one of the local restaurants downtown, where they used to go back when everything was still new. Then they went on a walk under the moon, gazing up at the stars as she rambled on about the different constellations. They promenaded until they reached a familiar plaza.
Yelena didn't recognize the fountain at first, too busy counting the lights above but when she did, she froze in her tracks. "Oh my god—" she said as she rushed up to the ledge, leaning over to dip her hand in the water, "Baby, this is where we met!"
He watched her quietly, admiring the way her hair fall down her shoulders, the easy smile on her lips and the sound of her laughter. Then he got down on one knee, his heart thundering in his chest as he waited for her to turn back around. She did so with a frown, as though she was about to ask why he wasn't saying anything, only to gasp when she understood why.
Jungkook had never been good with all that sappy shit. Long speeches professing his undying love were not his thing, still, he tried his best for her. He marveled at her beauty, her kindness, how grateful he was to have such a woman be the mother of his child — how is only wish now was to be able to call her his wife.
They got married three months later. It was a big wedding, almost as extravagant as her. Each decoration was tailored to her style, the flowers, the table cloths, the archway where they stood as they took their vows. He spent hours pacing before the ceremony, practicing his speech over and over. His hair was not the wild and unruly mess it had been but a neatly combed through part of dark locks. He'd even taken out his piercings, they no longer felt like a part of him — this Jungkook was a brand new one — a married man.
His mother cried, his father too, Jungkook cried as well, but no one shed more tears than Yelena as she said, "I do."
Leaving Rayne with their parents, they took off on a long honeymoon consisting of endless beaches and late sunsets under palm trees. There he made love to her every single day, worshiping each limb until his kisses were littered all across her skin. He thought he couldn't be happier, but was quickly proven wrong shortly after returning home as Yelena told him that she was pregnant again.
Jungkook was going to have a son.
A tiny copy of himself running around their large estate. Someone he could teach how to be a man — as much as he know how to at least. And Cassian was perfect, utterly so.
"Let me take a picture of you!" His mother said as they all gathered in their living room. They had returned home with Cassian only two days prior, but his parents were eager to see their second grandchild. Jungkook had tried to talk her out of it but there was no changing her mind.
Yelena guided him down into an armchair, placing the tiny baby in one of his arms as she took her spot beside him. Rayne climbed into his lap cuddling up against his chest as she clutched at his shirt.
"Well you'll have to smile a little, son," his father coaxed, pulling a laugh from his wife who rested her hand on his shoulder.
At that, Jungkook did actually smile, he probably looked like an idiot. Not that it mattered. Nothing but this mattered — his family. He peered down at Cassian who wriggled in his embrace, feeling his lips pull into a grin so wide it almost hurt.
His mother snapped the picture a second later, cooing at how adorable they looked. Jungkook knew he would treasure this moment forever.
Life had this strange way of turning everything upside down when you least expect for it to. It was funny, how such an unsuspecting sunrise could lead to such a grim sunset.
The day had started off just as normal, with him kissing Yelena goodbye on the front porch. She would be working from home while they waited for new fabrics at the store, which meant the house would be hers and the children's until that evening. Leaving his family was always the hardest part of his morning, and his kids had not made it any easier on him.
Rayne clung to him a little tighter, her tiny arms wrapping around his leg as she sighed a quiet farewell. He'd bent down to embrace her properly, pressing his lips to her temple before straightening up and doing the same to Cassian who was held in his mother's arms. Then he had gotten in his car without as much as a clue of what was to come.
It had been a slow morning for Jungkook as he sorted through paperwork by his desk, longing to return home. The ticking of the clock was all that could be heard for the hours leading up to lunch, save for the rustle of folders and papers as he rearranged things without actually taking a proper look.
The call came early that afternoon. Jungkook had had half a mind to ignore it at first, not feeling like dealing with anymore investors at the moment. But something had told him to pick it up, be it the weird twist in his gut or the headache building subtly behind his eyes. So he'd reached for the handset despite his better judgment, bringing it to his ear and exhaling a deep breath.
"Mr. Jeon?"
It hadn't been an investor.
"I'm calling from Amity Hospital regarding your mother and father in law. It would be best if you could get here as soon as possible."
Jungkook did not know Mr. and Mrs. Emerson all that well. He had met them only a handful of times, the last being for Cassian's third birthday in June — that was three months ago. They were quite reserved people, even around their own grandchildren, though Jungkook knew they meant a great deal to Yelena, and her to them.
He also knew that by the time the hospital had called to inform him about the accident — she must've already been there. So he rushed to his feet, whatever means he'd had of getting any work done disregarded in favor of his hurting wife.
The drive was only twenty minutes, yet it felt like he sat behind the wheel for an hour, swerving through traffic and stepping on the gas a little harder than necessary. But once he made it inside and spotted Yelena on the floor by a few ambulance workers, he knew he'd been too late.
She was all trembling limbs and shaky sobs in his arms when he finally reached her. The doctors had advised against seeing the bodies. "They do not look like your parents anymore," one of them said, the truck which hit their car had made sure of that. But she wouldn't listen, not even to Jungkook as he tried to reason with her.
They stayed in the morgue for over an hour, her wails echoing off the sterile walls and flickering lights as she cried her heart out in front of the people who'd raised her. The children were at his parents house, safely hidden away from the anguish their mother was going through. Jungkook never left her side, but even then, there was nothing he could do to lessen the ache.
Mr. and Mrs. Emerson died at only fifty-two and fifty-five.
Yelena did not eat for three days. She barely left their bed and when she did, it was to make a quick trip to the bathroom before burrowing herself under the covers again. Day and night passed without much meaning for her and the endless sleep she succumbed to. The children's stay at his parents turned from a simple overnight one to almost an entire week.
Jungkook hadn't been to the office at all. There was no space in his mind for work. He sat by the edge of their shared bed for hours, gently stroking her limp arm up and down. She would never acknowledge him, never respond to his whispered pleas and the calling of her name.
By day four he spoonfed her soup. He gave it to her in small, manageable bites which she took without heaving as much as a breath. Yelena was always particular about her appearance, but right now she looks nothing like the woman he knows. Her hair is a wild nest atop her head, her clothes wrinkled and plastered to her body, lips chapped and dry.
She doesn't try to stop him when he lifts her into his arms and Jungkook says nothing as he carries her toward the bathroom. Her body is boneless against his chest, her legs and arms dangling uselessly with each step he takes.
The children would be returning home this afternoon. He could not keep them from their mother any longer — but he could spare them of witnessing her like this.
He sits her down on the closed toilet lid. Then he undresses her carefully. The fabric smells but it barely registers, no, he's far too focused on the sickeningly pale hue to her face, the line of her collarbone that had become far too prominent after only a few days of starvation.
Yelena doesn't shy away from being stripped bare, the only sign that she was even feeling anything but sorrow, was the shiver that ripples through her as the cold air nips at her skin.
He runs a bath for her, filling the tub with warm water that he hopes will soothe her weak body and ease her plagued mind. Rolling his sleeves to his elbows, he transfers her gently. The goosebumps fade from her naked arms and chest, it fills him with momentary relief — though it vanishes when he sees the look on her face.
Jungkook has never lost someone close to him. Doesn't know what it feels like to grieve the people who gave you life. What he does know is that it will pass, with time. He just needs to be there for her, care for her when she's unable to care for herself. He could do that, he would do that.
The sponge is lathered with soap and he squeezes it out into the water before bringing it to her shoulder. She flinches at the touch, only for a moment, but the small reaction was the first he'd gotten out of her in days now. He continues to wash her, making sure to get every inch of her body.
Yelena sits quietly in the tub, the water around her is still except for the soft ripple whenever he dipped the sponge in it. He moves across her chest, over and between her breasts, down her stomach, thighs, calves and feet. She would always squirm whenever he kissed the inside of her knee, saying that it tickled. Today she doesn't even react.
He rubs shampoo into her frizzy hair, massaging her scalp gently, the same way he would when she'd had a long day at work. It takes him nearly twenty minutes to untangle each lock, careful not to tug on the ends too hard and cause her pain.
Once he pulls the drain and empties the tub she still hasn't moved as much as an inch. Wordlessly he lifts her back into his arms, grabbing a towel on his way before heading back into their bedroom.
It feels like dressing up a doll when he pulls her favorite shirt over her head, tucking her arms through the sleeves and pulling it down her torso. He picks out things she would wear around the house — familiar pieces that he knows the children will recognize.
Then he pulls her into his lap, brushing through her damp hair slowly as he speaks to her. He rambles on about whatever comes to mind, their children, work, the new sofa he was planning on purchasing. Multiple kisses are placed to the nape of her neck, her shoulder, the top of her head.
Once he's finished she looks better. Not good, but no longer the corpse he'd found in his bed this morning. His thumb brushes over the hollow of her cheek, the shadows under her eyes — he doesn't know how to hide those.
Jungkook tries to smile when he opens the door for his parents and children half an hour later. Both Cassian and Rayne are flinging themselves into his arms, and he hugs them back harder than he ever had. His mother offers to stay, he can tell that she means well, that she's only concerned. Still, he shakes his head and says that it's fine. The last thing Yelena needs is to be reminded of what she'd lost.
"Can we go see mother now?" Rayne asks against his shoulder. He hesitates, prolonging the inevitable would only make matters worse. So he takes them upstairs, to where he'd left Yelena on the bed.
She's sitting in the same spot where he'd dressed her, long hair almost dry by now. Her gaze is fixed to the far wall, the slow blinks and steady breaths she takes are the only sign of life within her.
Rayne approaches first, hopping up onto the mattress beside her mother. "Hi mom," she says when placing a small hand on her knee, "Are you feeling better now?" An innocent question really. The kids knew what had happened, at least, as well as his own mother and father had been able to explain the concept of death to them.
Yelena barely reacts to the gentle pat, but her eyes shift over to her daughter — it's enough to make Rayne smile. "It's okay," she says, "Your mom and dad are with the angels and the angels are nice."
She receives no answer but doesn't seem deterred by at as she wraps her arms around her mother's waist, burying her face against her side. Yelena's lifeless eyes track the movement, but she never attempts to reciprocate the hug.
A small tug to his sleeve makes Jungkook turn toward Cassian who had shifted to stand slightly behind him. He wears a deep frown, making him look almost frightened. His gaze flickers over to the bed and he makes a pitiful sound at the back of his throat, "Mommy is scary."
His words were quiet enough for only Jungkook to hear, but they still cut deep. He crouches down, coming eye level with his son who stood no more than three feet tall. Reaching a hand up to stroke his dark hair back, he says, "Mommy is feeling a little sad right now. Sad people don't always look the same as happy ones, but that's still your mom. You don't have to be scared of her."
Cassian nods, a tiny tilt of his chin as he glances toward his mother and Rayne on the bed. He did not seem convinced by Jungkook's words but he did bring himself over to give her a small hug.
Yelena did not return his embrace either, still sitting stiff as a statue on the edge of the mattress as she gazed at her children with emptiness.
The following weeks were difficult. Jungkook tried to juggle everything at once. From taking the children back and forth to day care, getting through his busy work days and making time to tend to Yelena who was slowly getting out of bed on her own in the mornings. He spent less and less time in the office, one of the spare rooms had been converted into a makeshift study where he was able to focus for a few hours at a time.
By the one month mark things were starting to look up. Yelena spoke again, and even though her voice lacked its previous charisma, she was no longer sitting in silence. She would ask about the kids' day, if she felt up to it she would even read them bedtime stories.
"I can cook tonight," she said when coming downstairs to find Jungkook in the kitchen. He never considered himself a great chef, but the past couple of weeks forced him into learning a bunch of new recipes as he tried to make something his wife would eat with a little more joy.
"You don't have to," he assured her, arm sliding around her waist as he pulled her to his chest — a small semblance of normalcy amidst everything. "Rest, I'll take care of it," he murmurs when pressing a kiss to her cheek.
She shook her head, "I want to."
Slowly they found their way back to what had once been. The road was never straight, there were still days where all she wanted to do was lay in bed, still nights where she cried into the crook of his neck as he held her through the pain. But it was worth every rare smile and every soft chuckle under her breath when he said something stupid.
She went back to work not long after — only for a few hours at first, then a full week, then another. Jungkook thought that this was their turning point, the future was looking bright again. But he quickly found that the reason for her newfound happiness hadn't come from his continuos support and efforts, at least not entirely.
It started small at first, like all things dangerous do. He noticed the empty bottle in the bathroom cabinet, on a shelf too high for Rayne and Cassian to reach. "For the headaches," Yelena told him with a shrug.
Jungkook knew it to be a lie, and yet, he didn't try to stop her. He believed that if it took away the darkness — then perhaps it was okay. It was just pain killers after all. But one bottle every two weeks quickly spiraled into one every couple of days. And the darkness she was chasing away was replaced with something much more grave.
"Honey!"
Yelena's voice alerted him from down the hall and Jungkook glanced up from the papers on his desk just in time to see her stepping through the door to his study. "Yes, my love?" he asked, already setting his work aside as he straightened up in his seat.
She said nothing at first, regarding him with calculating eyes before frowning. "Have you seen my meds? I could've sworn I placed them on the top shelf in the—"
"I threw them out."
His response makes her tense, shoulders drawing up as her gaze snaps to him. "What?" she huffs, a hint of disbelief creeping into the word. She didn't believe him, that much was clear. Jungkook had never went against her wishes, he was always there at her every beck and call, he would never do anything to upset her, surely it had to be a misunderstanding.
But Jungkook isn't backing down. He swallows when pushing himself to his feet, rounding the table separating them as he comes to a halt in front of her. "I said, I threw them out."
The crease between her brows deepens and she folds her arms across her chest. "Why would you do that? You know I need those for my headaches."
He can feel the muscles in his jaw clenching at the excuse. "It's getting out of hand, you and I both know it."
Yelena actually looked taken aback by the sudden confrontation. It was unlike him to ever say or do something like that. But her initial shock is quickly replaced with something much more bitter. "I told you, I need them for my headaches," she continues to push the same narrative as before, jabbing an accusing finger to his chest, "You don't get to decide when I stop."
If she'd been able to hide the tremor to her bottom lip, perhaps Jungkook would've let her storm out again. But he caught it, just like he did everything with Yelena. His fingers curled around her wrist and he tugged her to his chest in a bone-crushing hug.
"I'm sorry," he'd whispered against the top of her head, "I just want you to be okay."
She started crying then. Her tears were becoming all the more common but they still hurt him just as deep each and time. "I do too," she admitted against his shoulder, and for a second time, Jungkook had let himself believe that things were about to change for the better.
Yelena stopped taking the pain medication but she never seemed to get better. There was always a grayish hue to her skin, the bags under her eyes didn't ease up and though she slept through the night for the most part, he knew that something was wrong.
The children would jump into her lap — just as they always did — only for her to startle and scold them. Small, unnecessary things would bother her. The ticking of a clock, the crackle of their fireplace, even the sound of pages in a book being flipped. "Will you stop that!" she'd suddenly shout, and Jungkook would glance up from whatever he was doing with a frown. She always apologized on her next shaky exhale, but it didn't erase what had happened.
He raided the bathroom cabinet, the bedside drawer, the closet — all in search of anything that could point to her strange behavior. Of course, he had his suspicions, it was impossible not to. He just didn't want to believe them, and without solid evidence they could not exist, until suddenly — they had.
Jungkook knows that she probably hadn't expected him to still be in bed by the time she returned from her shower that Tuesday morning. But he had taken to working from home more than often as of late, to keep an eye on her, even though he'd never admit that out loud.
So when she walked in, clad in only a towel, she hadn't thought to cover herself. "Morning," she'd chirped as she ran her fingers through her hair, pausing only when her husband's silence grew dreary. By the time she noticed where his gaze lingered, the damage had already been done.
She tried to hide her arm, tucking it to her chest as she averted her gaze, "Baby I'm—"
"Show me your arm." Jungkook shot out of bed without waiting for her to finish her sentence. His fingers close around her forearm as he pries it from her torso. Yelena protests, she yells for him to let go but he can't hear her, can't see her. All that exists are the puncture marks on her skin, the purple bruises that form around them, the evidence he'd been looking for without ever thinking he'd find.
"What have you done?" His voice cracks on the last syllable, the brief anger slipping away just as quickly as it had come, replaced with dread, so much dread.
Tears are streaming down her face but she says nothing as her arm goes lax in his hand. She cries silently for a minute and Jungkook doesn't take his eyes off the marks in the crease of her elbow, he doesn't touch them either — the thought makes him sick.
Finally, she croaks out a quiet, "I had no other choice."
"There's always a choice!"
He doesn't mean to snap at her but he can't help himself. The fear is morphing into anger and Jungkook has no idea how to put a lid on it. "You can't just—" he barely registers the fact that he's crying too, the same salty tears sliding across his cheeks in messy streaks.
Swallowing, he shakes his head, "Where are you getting this shit?"
Yelena refuses to return his gaze and he knows that he will not get a response out of her. He glances down to where he's still gripping her arm, the way his fingers have sunk into her skin with such force that he wondered why she hadn't winced yet. He jerks his hand away, terrified of the emotions that were washing over him.
The words that wait on his tongue are not kind, so he shoves them back down his throat and heaves a breath. Then he turns away from her, focusing on the bed they'd been sleeping peacefully on just an hour prior.
"Cover up," he says, "I don't want the children seeing that."
Addiction was an infestation. What had started so small — so seemingly innocent — grew into a hungry monster. Yelena's addiction was tearing them all apart from the inside and out. It had festered itself to the walls, bleeding through the carpets and tainting their furniture with its poison.
She looked like shit, perhaps even worse than she had the first few days after her parents death. It had been three weeks since she last went into work. Jungkook had been forced to maintain the employees salaries, trying to keep her business afloat as well as his own and the rest of his life.
They talked less and less — and whenever they did it was brief. Yelena was in a foul mood almost every single day, and she took it out on those around her.
He could no longer keep the children in the dark, least of all Rayne, who'd always been so perceptive for her age. She would peek around corners, listen in to conversations that should never have reached her ears. The worst part was that she didn't even have to try — Jungkook and her mother argued loud enough for the entire neighborhood to be shook on some days.
"You're being selfish!"
Yelena shot him a glare, "You have no idea what I'm going through!" Dinner was long forgotten about on the stove, the rice burnt to the pan, and the spatula used to stir it with, clutched in his wife's hand as she waves it aimlessly.
"No. But I know what you're putting our children through, all your fucking shit is dragging them down with you!" He rarely cursed these days, but the conversations between him and the woman he loves were pulling out sides of him he thought to be only a distant memory.
She pauses at that, spatula raised mid swing, like she'd actually meant to hit him. "I'm trying, okay? I'm—" shaking her head, she lowers her arm again. "You just keep pushing me. I need this shit to stay well. Can't you see what it fucking does to me when I don't have it?"
Jungkook scoffs, "So that's it? Getting high is how you're going to deal with your family from now on?" He learned that Yelena had never actually processed the loss of her parents, never actually grieved them. Instead she'd turned to something that would take away the pain — not realizing it would steal everything else as well.
"Why?!" she flings the spatula onto the counter, it slides across the marble top before falling to the floor with a clatter. Her eyes are livid with rage and confusion, "Why can't you just let me do this? Why do you have to take away the only thing that makes it better?"
That stings, perhaps more than if she had actually struck him. Jungkook swallows the lump in his throat. Right. The drugs were her salvation. Not her children. Not him. But the substance which she abused and tormented her body and mind with. Something inside of him snaps, and he surges forward as he grabs her shoulders with trembling hands.
"Because I don't want to bury my own wife before she's even thirty!" He spits the words in her face, the horror of the very possible reality dawning on him in that exact moment. Yelena must come to the same realization for she's gone mute in front of him, barely fighting his tight grip on her.
Then all of a sudden, there's a small creak in the distance — a floorboard being stepped on too heavy. Jungkook's head whips in the direction of the kitchen doorway just in time to see Rayne's shadow slipping away again. Her footsteps are quick and light when they climb the stairs, the click of her bedroom door echoes throughout the now silent house. He feels his heart drop.
When Cassian asked if his mommy was dying — Jungkook hadn't known what to reply. It was right after his fourth birthday, which they had celebrated at home, with his own parents joining them. Yelena came downstairs when it was time to blow out the candles, though she never indulged in the cake Jungkook's mother had baked. And when they finished eating she returned back to their bedroom.
For someone so young, it was hard to understand just what was happening. Part of him is relieved that his son has yet to know the full extent of what his mother was going through. The other scrambles to fill in the gaps for him.
"Is she sick?" Cassian had asked when Jungkook tucked him into bed that night.
He placed the covers all the way up to his chin, "Yes, she is."
The small boy frowned, tiny fingers fiddling with a lock of his hair — the same dark curls his mother had. "Go to hospital?" he then wonders, to which Jungkook shakes his head.
"Your mom has a sickness that medicine can't cure."
Cassian lies silently for a little while, the soft lamp of his bedside table basking him in yellow warmth. His eyes — big and round — finds his father's, "Can you?"
Jungkook hesitates, his brows pinching together as he exhales through his nose. "I can try."
He kissed his forehead and arranged the covers over him one last time, promising his son that he would do his best, even if it meant losing himself along the way.
He'd tried to get Yelena into rehab, a place with people who understood her struggles and were going through the same thing. Only for a month, he told her, just to see if she could get help. But she wouldn't have it. And as an adult, she couldn't be admitted unless she chose so herself. He kept trying for another two weeks before abandoning the idea entirely.
Summer of 86' was horrible, worse was September. Yelena was far too gone to even remember his birthday, Jungkook didn't feel like celebrating anyway. Though he did bring her a scarf for hers — hoping that the soft fabric would spark something inside of her.
She barely glanced at it.
For every day that passed Jungkook watched as his wife slowly deteriorated. He'd found a stash under the bed — full of the shit she'd inject herself with. He threw it away without batting an eye. When Yelena caught on she had walked out the door, and didn't return until the following evening — he never knew where she went and he never asked. He knows that he's better off in the dark.
She was never happy, but she wasn't always sad. There was a small gray area where she'd actually initiate conversation like a normal person, where she'd seek out the children without Jungkook having to force her — on those days Jungkook was always filled with the embarrassment of hope.
It never lasted and he realized how stupid he must be to cling on to something that had already been lost.
He was watching her die. Each morning he would wake, not knowing if she was going to rise with him. At some point it became too much, and he began to sleep in the guest bedroom. She never commented on it, he figured she might not have cared at all.
Sometimes he would stare into her eyes, the same beautiful brown eyes that he'd fallen in love with all those years ago by the water fountain — he doesn't recognize them anymore. And perhaps he's naive for clinging to the memory of what had once been, stupid to think that there might be a way for them to return to the way things were before — even though he knows they won't.
Rayne and Cassian stopped asking for their mother eventually. They ate whatever food Jungkook cooked them, got ready for bed with his help and were tucked in and kissed goodnight by him as well. The room down the hall — their bedroom — remained silent, but everyone knew who lingered on the other side of the door.
What had done him in in the end had not been her death — for Yelena was still alive — but the world she had built wasn't. September month was coming to an end, and just like he had for nearly a year now, Jungkook was rolling out the pay to those who still kept her clothing store up and running.
Only, the checks were rejected again. Strange. There should be enough money within the business to keep it standing for another couple of years without his wife's guidance. Still, he had contacted the bank himself, just to make sure. "No sir," the man on the phone told him, "There are no finances left. We sent out a notice last month, has Mrs. Jeon not received it?"
Jungkook didn't let him finish and he did not respond to the inquiry as he slammed the handset down hard enough to rattle the entire box. He leaned back in his seat, rubbing a tired hand over his eyes as he realized where that money had went. Then he did something he hadn't done in years.
To his right, in the bottom drawer of the desk, was a pack he'd kept just in case. He never had any reason to reach for it, even when the sleepless nights and arguments with Yelena reached their peak. Today he finds that it's his only reprieve. So he picks up a cigarette and lights it.
The smoke went down his throat like an old friend and Jungkook wondered why he hadn't caved sooner. He exhales, letting the cloud dissipate as he ponders his next move. There's this one thought that eats away at him. Call it paranoia but he can't seem to shake it.
Shoving the cigarette between his lips, he makes another call, this one to the bank which held all of their funds. He remains calm when the lady on the other end of the line tells him that all accounts were intact — all but the one he'd set up for the children's future studies. He would add to it each month, making sure both Cassian and Rayne were set to enroll in whichever university they pleased when the time came. But that one had been emptied. Not taken from — but stripped bare of every last dime.
He shared access to the fund with Yelena, and it didn't take a genius to figure out where she had placed the money that was promised to their children.
Jungkook got off the phone, sat back in his seat and finished his cigarette. Then he had another one. He felt oddly at peace given what he'd just found out. In fact, he thinks this might be his biggest moment of clarity yet.
Once he's finished his second smoke he files the clothing store for bankruptcy and walked out of the study.
He finds Yelena in their bedroom, half passed out on top of the covers — just like usual. She doesn't look up when the door clicks shut behind him, not even when he comes to stand by the edge of the mattress, looming over her with eerie stillness.
"You need to leave."
Jungkook is surprised by how leveled he sounds when he says the words he never thought would leave his lips. She finally cracks a bloodshot eye open, brows furrowing together as she peers up at him. "What?" she huffs.
But he's done. The children were at daycare and school, the house was empty and no one would hear his next statement, no one but her. "You need to leave. I don't want you here anymore."
Yelena pushes herself up onto her elbows, "What are you talking about?"
"The money."
Her face pales, which shouldn't have been possible given how sick she already looked. "I know what you've done," he continues, "And if this is the path you've chosen for yourself then I can't stop you." He swallows, fingers curling into a loose fist by his side, "You've ruined my life. But I won't let you ruin our children's too."
He prides himself on how calm he's able to remain, even as Yelena's expression flickers between at least ten different ones in the span of thirty seconds. After an entire minute she finally moves — right toward him.
Jungkook barely has any time to react before her arms wrap around his neck, her open mouth finding his in a kiss that feels nothing but loving. "Baby," she sighs against his lips, "We can fix this." Her small pecks move to his jaw as she drags her tongue along his skin — it makes him sick.
His hands clutch at her shirt as he hauls her off of him again. "What the fuck are you doing—?" he spits, the composure he'd built in his study vanishing in an instant as Yelena fights his grip in order to attach herself to him again.
Tears drip down her cheeks, "Please, baby. I'll get better I promise. I love you, I love you so much."
He tries to block the sound of her voice out, tries to not let those empty and hollow make belief words get to him. This wasn't his wife. The matted hair, the dull eyes and the dark circles beneath them. This wasn't his Yelena, he knows that now.
"Leave."
It takes everything in him to not bring her back in his arms, to pretend that everything was alright, just for today. But he keeps his chin high, even pointing toward the bedroom door as he fights the tremble in his hand. She follows his finger, the tears drying up instantly as reality settles in.
"Fine," she snaps. Turning on her heel, she heads for the closet as she begin ripping clothes out — clothes she hasn't worn in months. She shoves them into a bag, grabbing along whatever necessities she found laying around. Bottles are scattered on top of the dresser, most of them are empty but she still rummages through the mess in search of something that holds what she wants.
Jungkook watches it all with his heart shrinking in his chest. A small, naive and pathetic part of him had thought — hoped — that she would choose her children over this. That she would choose him, just like he had chosen her everyday for the past year.
But Yelena is not looking back, her mind was made up. If she could not have both then she would settle for the poison.
She walks through the door without telling him goodbye, her shoulder brushing past his with enough force to have him stumble on his feet. He peers down to the floor, clenching his jaw shut as he bites back the pleas waiting on his tongue.
"I'm sorry."
"Please stay."
"You're right, we can fix this."
The same lies he'd been letting her spoonfeed him for months now. He couldn't take it anymore. But listening to the heavy thuds of her descending the stairs angrily, the sound of shoes being yanked on with a stomp, or the front door as it slammed shut hard enough to loosen it off its hinges — it broke him.
Jungkook stands in the middle of their bedroom in silence, gaze lingering on the mattress where she'd been laying not long ago. His knees hit the floor solemnly and he stares down at his empty palms.
Then he cries.
The house felt empty in the absence of Yelena, and Jungkook had a hard time figuring out if that was a good or a bad thing. He found himself listening for her more than often, each creak of a floorboard and every tap of the wind against the glass has him turning in its direction, only to be disappointed again.
For the first week or so, the children stayed with his parents. Jungkook couldn't bear the thought of seeing anyone right now, least of all his own kids, who he would have to explain the situation to at some point. His mother said she didn't mind — she even had his old bedroom rearranged into a spare one for them.
He hadn't heard from Yelena since she slammed the front door all those days ago. Those days turned into weeks, and as he filed the divorce papers two months later, he came to understand that he never would hear from her again. He did not have to fight her for custody, she didn't even turn up.
During the time that followed, Jungkook moved on autopilot. Things he used to take joy in became just another chore on his list. He'd built his life around Yelena, his business, this house, their children — everything was branded in her name, one way or the other. So it was easier to just stop feeling all together.
The more distance he managed to place between himself and the things that were destroying him, the more control he would get. Jungkook started following a strict schedule. If he numbered his days by the hour, then he would never have space to stop and think about the things that haunted him.
He would get up at five, take a cold shower and have coffee. Crowd his brain with work inside his study. Then he would wake his children — get them ready for the day before dropping them off at school and daycare — then he drove himself to work until it was time to pick them up again.
But even his children reminded him of what he'd lost within their mother. Jungkook hates himself for the way he looks at them, with such little warmth that he wonders if perhaps he'd made the wrong choice after all.
Cassian was thankfully too young to understand. He would cry for his mother, Jungkook would call his own — and she would come over to comfort the young boy. If things were particularly rough both children would spend a couple of days at their grandparents, no one questioned why.
Rayne was difficult. She lingered in his peripheral vision, watching him whenever she thought he wasn't looking. It annoyed him just as much as it pained him. The last thing he wanted was for his daughter to see him like this, pathetically drowning in his own misery. He wants to apologize for the arguments she witnessed, wants to say something about Yelena to soother her — yet he does none of that.
Because Jungkook was truly just a miserable piece of shit.
So he doubles down on the strict schedule. Keeping both himself and the children busy so that he wouldn't have to address the things still left unsaid. He tries to keep up a front, especially around his eldest who always had her eyes on him — but he would slip up ever so often.
Whenever he was lost in thought he would end up setting the table for four. And it wasn't until Rayne quietly pointed it out that he'd blink twice, sighing under his breath before grabbing the extra plate and returning it to the kitchen. Other times he forgot to cook and pack their lunch, Yelena usually did that. Rayne would be there to remind him again.
After nearly eight months of struggling through the new routine, the house had settled into something akin to peace. It wasn't real, not even close — in fact it was more like play pretend. And though it was fragile, it was still better than things had ever been when their mother was still around.
Jungkook went back to working his usual ten hours — returning to the office was a lot harder than he'd thought. No one had missed the ugly fall out between him and his wife. If his nearly year-long absence wasn't enough proof, then the missing ring on his finger surely got their gears turning.
He did his best to ignore them for the most part. His employees knew better than to come to him with their concerns, lest they wanted to keep their job. Still, a few here and there came up to let him know how sorry they were. The rumors of his ex-wife's substance abuse were not new, but they'd resurfaced as Jungkook made his appearance after some time away.
Things settled down a couple of days later, mostly because he kept glaring at whoever dared glance in his direction for longer than a heartbeat. Once the initial wave had passed, Jungkook actually found solace in spending time at the office. While the place was still tainted with the essence of Yelena, it was nowhere near as bad as the state of his home.
In order to spend more time behind his desk, he began to ponder on a solution regarding his children. He was hardly a present figure in their life at the moment, so he thought that introducing someone else to watch over them while he buried himself beneath paperwork, wasn't such a bad idea.
The first advertisement that expressed his need for a nanny went up that following afternoon. Jungkook wasn't picky. All he needed was someone who could follow the schedule his children had become accustomed to, preferably a decent cook but he didn't bother adding the detail.
And no high school graduates. Yelena would've called him ridiculous, but Jungkook doesn't care. He remembers far too well the kind of person he'd been barely a decade ago, a nuisance to his parents and whoever crossed paths with him. It was the last kind of influence he'd want near his own children.
He had very little luck in the beginning. Most of them were women in their mid twenties, though some had been even older and in need of another income — not that it ever mattered when they all went out the same way. No one managed to stick to the routines for longer than a day or so. Some of them even made comments on his children's "abnormal behavior" to which Jungkook fired them accordingly.
Getting new candidates wasn't the issue — he offered enough by the hour to attract new applications every other day. No, the real issue was getting them to actually stay.
So when the sound of the doorbell echoed throughout the house on that October morning, Jungkook had went downstairs just as usual. The children didn't even bother peeking out of their rooms anymore, they were used to meeting new faces by this point.
He opened the door just like he always would, careful not to let his prejudice show in front of the newest hire. You were unlike the others. Not as put-together, he noticed the worn out edges of your coat, the poor state of your shoes, it almost made him raise a brow, though he caught himself just in time. Strangely enough, you reminded him of someone he'd known long ago.
Then you opened your mouth to speak and his heart stuttered in his chest. "Hello, I'm here for the—," Your voice… God, Jungkook hadn't heard a voice so bright in ages.
He inhaled, cutting you off mid sentence. "You're the nanny," he says, and you nod, seemingly unbothered by his lack of manners. It makes him frown. Perhaps you'd actually make it through your first week.
If you, or anyone you know, is struggling with addiction don't hesitate to reach out for help. Emergency Numbers (UK, U.S, South Africa, New Zealand, Philippines, Ireland, Australia, Canada & India). More Emergency Numbers. No battle is meant to be fought alone, you matter <3
── [ ✉️ ] God, hello. This is going to be a long one, don't even know if anyone will be reading this but I must get my thoughts out nonetheless. This chapter was so important for me to write. Not only does it provide answers to a lot of the questions we've had throughout the story, but it is especially important for Jungkook's character. I'm sure you noticed that I focused more on some parts than others. I focused mainly on the things that altered Jungkook's character in a way that's relevant to the story (such as him getting rejected by the investors, slowly building his career, the tone shift in him as a person throughout the entire chapter). He is the centrepoint for this chapter and while Yelena is important, how he perceives things and how they make him feel was my main goal with this. If I managed to do this correctly, then you will understand how Jungkook came to be the person he is present time. This was all about getting close and vulnerable with him in a way we never have before, I really hope that shows. The chapter also touched on a lot of triggering topics, I've tried to portray them with as much respect as I can whilst still indulging for the sake of the story to feel immersive and gripping. Okay, I'll surely ramble if you ladies come to me in my inbox with thoughts/feelings. I hope that not too many tears were shed, I'll give you a hug and lend a tissue if they were. I love you all so so much, please stay safe and take care of yourselves <3
𓄲 He doesn't respond, you knew he wouldn't. The roaring fire inside of you is put out as though someone had dumped a bucket of water over it. Better if he didn't? You let your gaze drop to the floor, to where your feet were but an inch from nudging his — yet Jungkook had never felt further away.
전정국 x f!reader ˖ ࣪ ꉂ🗯˙ ‹— cw dilf!jungkook single dad jungkook nanny!reader 1980s au slowburn fluff angst (eventual) explicit content age gap (jungkook is 30, reader is 20) oc!cassian/oc!rayne (jk's children) soft launching the angst in this one
⧽ word count ⋮ 8.3k
average reading time ⋮ 45 minutes
── [ ✉️ ] I think I scared you ladies with the teaser, this chapter is not that angsty. The real deal has yet to hit us where it hurts. But oh my god, literally everything is about to change right now. I'm so nervous hitting post on this because I already know how my comment section and inbox is going to look in a couple of hours. The moment we all waited for is here though. Feedback in the comments/reblogs and asks are much appreciated <3
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chapter 24 — "Twig Snap"
Your bedroom looks exactly the way you had left it six months ago — save for the layer of dust that had accumulated since your departure. The knick-knacks you hadn't bothered with in the midst of the July heat, lay scattered across your old dresser, desk and bookshelf. A couple of stacked books, a plant that your mother was surely watering, and the Walkman your father had gotten you a few years back.
There was something so sickeningly nostalgic about standing in the center of the room you had grown up in. How one glance toward the green bedsheets with dotted flowers could make you feel like a kid all over again.
The duffel bag slung over your shoulder sits heavier than it had upon your arrival at Mr. and Mrs. Jeon's house. Perhaps it was the cookies Ye-seo had stuffed in there before your departure, or maybe it was simply the weight of Jungkook's silence as he drove you to the train station this morning.
You let it drop to the floor with a thud, leaving it behind as you approach the bed. Your knees buckle and then they hit the mattress, your body toppling forward as your face buries in the pillow that still holds memories of childhood. Your eyes flutter and you find comfort in the darkness behind closed lids.
There's an uneven, soft lump, pressing against your ribs. Reaching a half-hearted hand under yourself, you frown when coming into contact with familiar, fuzzy leg. You pull the teddy out from beneath you, huffing out a short breath when its sun-bleached head lolls forward.
Your dad had named him Tater, said that his yellow hue and lumpy stomach made him resemble that of a potato. You'd cried on the stuffed toy's behalf at first, at least until your mom managed to console both you and your teddy — whose feelings were naturally hurt.
His floppy arms are easily manipulated under your fingers and you bend one of them into a small wave. "Hey there," you hum, and Tater claps enthusiastically. Leaning forward to press a soft kiss to his forehead, you take a moment to inhale the different scents that inhabit him. Like that of the funky-looking tapestry, paint being left out to dry, the bitter traces of your father's cigarettes and something sweet.
Despite the delicious food you'd been eating at Mr. and Mrs. Jeon's house, there was still a gaping hole inside your stomach. Jungkook had been avoiding you ever since yesterday morning — when the movie ended and your interlocked pinkies became nothing but a sacred memory.
You don't know what had changed, but something had. He wouldn't look at you during mealtime, engaging in conversation only when his father forced him to. Mrs. Jeon had worn a solemn expression almost all day but you couldn't quite figure out what had been the cause.
Cassian was the only one who'd seemed just as clueless as you. Though he was at least able to enjoy himself. You think that perhaps it had to do with you — had your presence been unwanted after all? Had you said something out of line without even knowing it?
There's a quiet knock to your bedroom door and it pulls you back from the edge of the cliff that had become your mind as of late. "Come in," you call, rolling onto your back as you stare up at the ceiling.
You already know that it was your mom who had come. Dad never knocked, and he always found a way to step on all the creaks when crossing the wooden floorboards. Your mom is silent, almost eerily so, as she approaches you where you lay sprawled out on top of the covers.
"I thought I'd give you some time to settle in," she says when taking a seat on the edge of your bed. The mattress dips under her weight and the sight of her like this, instantly transports you back to a time long ago. "Your dad is in the kitchen making lunch, as per my demand."
The corner of your lip twitches as you nod, "Scrambled eggs?"
Your mom sighs, "The only thing he knows how to make without setting something on fire."
You both giggle at that. Your father's inability to cook was something that had led to many pizza nights — especially when your mother worked late and he was assigned with the task of dinner.
"She won't find out if we're sneaky about it," he would say as you hurried down to the local pizzeria just a few blocks from your house. Of course, she did always catch on, though she said nothing when finding both you and your dad passed out on the couch with the unfinished box still on the coffee table.
In the distance you could hear the tell-tale clinking and sizzling of a pan, signaling that your father was indeed trying his best to navigate the kitchen in his wife's absence.
"I see you found Tater," your mom nods toward the plushie you still cradle in both hands, a fond look in her eyes, "I'm starting to think I should write him into my will."
You scoff, "No. But I'm writing him into mine."
The two of you share another laugh at that before a comfortable silence settles between you. Things like that were easy with your mom. She asked just the right amount of questions, left out the ones she knew you wouldn't want to answer. You study her through the corner of your eye, trying to force the sudden lump in your throat back down.
You had deprived yourself of her comforting presence for six months now. The phone calls only did so much to pick up her soothing voice over the static — and now that you were here, on the same bed where she had lulled you to sleep so many times before — three days no longer felt like enough.
"That's a beautiful necklace," she muses, clearly having noticed the way your eyes glossed over with unshed tears but knowing better than to address them. Instead, she tilts her chin in the direction of the golden heart that rests over your collarbone.
Following her gaze, you crane your neck to see it better. "Oh," the exhale feels like it's been punched from your lungs and you reach a finger up to trace the pendant. "Yeah, it is," you hesitate before adding, "It was a gift."
Your mother's expression flickers with surprise as she leans forward, inspecting the piece of jewelry closely. "Must have been from someone special then," she says, but there's no teasing lilt to her voice — just raw honesty. It makes your chest contract even harder.
Yes. Jungkook was special. Your eyes find their way back to the golden heart, it shines softly under the sunlight that seeps through your window. Yet, the longer you regard the piece, the deeper the crease between your brows become. Were you special to him?
You glance toward the sneakers by your door, the ones he'd gotten you, the ones you had worn with pride throughout all of Christmas day as you played with Cassian in the snow. Then back to the necklace, the one you had tucked under the collar of your shirt when Mrs. Jeon had come to close to asking, the one you only let yourself behold when no one else was around.
The moment in the kitchen had felt romantic, as it always did when you and Jungkook were alone. But that was the thing wasn't it? The sneakers were fine — but the necklace too much to ever be given to you in front of his family. His gesture becomes tainted by the realization that it could not exist outside the bounds of your privacy.
"Yes," you whisper when letting the necklace fall back against your skin, "Someone special."
Special. But not special enough to be shown off in front of the people he loves most.
There was this pre-established routine at the round table in your parents' tiny kitchen. The kind that couldn't be found in the Jeon estate where you had shared so many of your meals. No, this came from years of coexistence. Where you had learned that your mom liked her coffee steaming hot with only a dollop's worth of milk. Or that your dad had this peculiar habit of layering the salt on the back of his hand before sprinkling it over his food.
It was a privilege, to know someone so intimately, to no longer need words when you communicate. Your parents do it all the time, a kiss on the cheek as your mother hands your father his mug, or him tucking a stray hair from her face when she brings her fork to her mouth.
The two of them had met by chance, really. Three years worth of college, all in pretty much the same classes with neither of them paying the other any mind. Had it not been for that drunken night — spent at the same graduation party in 66' — you might have never came to be.
A leap of faith is what your mother calls it. She would often remind you to thank your father for your life, for she had been ready to give the pregnancy up as soon as she found out. It was dad who convinced her to give him a shot and go out with him.
So in a way, you suppose you watched your parents fall in love, all the way from the beginning. You were gap-tooth and a proud first grader when your father proposed. You were 4'11 in a sheer, pink dress on their wedding. You were a lousy teenager when you celebrated their fifth anniversary with a trip to Egypt.
Nearly twenty-one years later and you were still watching them get hopelessly lost in each other's eyes.
Your dad nudges the massive plate of scrambled eggs in your direction, "Figured you'd be hungry after the long journey, kiddo," he says between mouthfuls when you raise him a brow.
"It's a two-hour train ride, honey," your mom sighs when snatching a slice of toasted bread for herself, to which the former grumbles under his breath as he shovels another forkful past his lips.
You sip on your orange juice, fingers tapping against the rim of your glass as you gaze out across the rather crammed kitchen. The fridge was covered in magnets, most of them bought from various stores in the area, though some souvenirs from the trips you would splurge on every so seldom.
Lunch consists of small talk for the most part. Details and funny stories about your parents' recent trip, and a bunch of apologies for not being able to bring you along — to which you simply shook your head. "I had a lot of school work anyway," you say when setting your glass down once more.
"Still, we really wanted to bring you along but the—"
Your dad is cut off by a sharp elbow to his ribs, delivered by your mom who hisses a 'quiet' under her breath. Confused, you sit up a little straighter. The two of them were not people to keep secrets, your twenty years by their side had taught you that much.
But before you get the chance to question your father's odd behavior, your mother cuts in. "So, how has school been?" she leans forward in her seat, ignoring her husband who was rubbing his wounded side with a grimace. "Last we spoke you mentioned a big exam, how was it?"
Blinking a few times, you recall the late evening where you had anxiously informed your mother of the important examination. What you hadn't told her about, was the very hands-on lesson with Jungkook on your couch that had followed. The heat of the memory alone makes his aloof demeanor yesterday feel all the colder.
"It went good," you hum, the few remains of eggs and toast on your plate now forgotten about.
Your dad finally recovers from his wife's brutal hit as he, too, joins in on the conversation. "Do you have anyone to practice with? Any classmates?" he asks as he reaches for his coffee mug, "Daehyun? He seemed like a nice guy."
Nodding, you give him a small smile, "Yes, Dae is nice. We study together."
"You should bring him around sometime," he then says as he peers down into his cup, "It'd be nice to put a face to the guy who—"
"Dad," you silence him with a sharp flick of your tongue, already sensing which road he was headed down. "Me and Daehyun are friends." Your father had a habit of believing each and every man you interacted with to be a potential suitor — so it was better to shut the idea down as quickly as possible.
"Besides," you then add with a tiny grin, "He likes boys."
The brows on his forehead raise a little higher at that and your father hums to himself. "Yes," he murmurs against the rim of his cup as he brings it up for another sip, "I've heard that's a thing."
On his right, your mother sends him a glare that could cut steel and he clears his throat into his coffee, "Not that there's anything wrong with it of course!"
Your mom rolls her eyes, wafting a hand in his direction like she was batting away a fly. Then she turns back to you, leaning across the table as much as it allowed. "You could still bring him over as a friend. I would love to meet him."
Giving her a nonverbal agreement, you sink back in your chair slightly. The idea of introducing Daehyun to your parents wasn't something you'd toyed with before — but you figured that there would be no harm in doing so.
"How about work, how's it looking for you over there in the big city?" Your dad asks when setting his mug down.
While your parents had been supportive of the move and your willingness to chase your dreams, the financial aspect still worried them. You didn't want to burden them even further by asking for help, determined to make it on your own, even if it meant working yourself to the bone.
"Well," you shrug, "I told you guys I quit at the restaurant, right?" They both hum and you draw in a long breath. "I make a lot more being a nanny for the children, besides, I've been entrusted with a lot more responsibilities." It wasn't a lie — it wasn't the truth either. Your relationship to Jungkook was complicated at best, and that was without taking yesterday into account.
Your father seems content to hear that, "I see. And the kids, they're nice?"
Nodding enthusiastically, you say, "They're lovely, I would love for you to meet them someday." The thought of possibly introducing the children to your parents had never actually crossed your mind. But the more you try to picture the four of them together, the faster your heart beats.
At least until Jungkook finds his way into the frame. You can see him so clearly. In his dress pants and button ups. With his hair styled to perfection and a face of stoicism. You imagine him next to your mom and dad. What would they think of him? What would he think of them?
"Their father raises them on his own, yes?" Your mom suddenly asks, ripping you from your momentary train of thought. Her expression doesn't falter when you tell her yes, but her brows do furrow, if only slightly. "He's alright? Treats you well I hope?"
You hum, "More than well."
Her and your dad share a lingering glance that makes you sigh. "He's a nice man," you tell them with certainty — refusing to let the mark of Christmas Day show as you send them a faint smile.
The tension in your mom's shoulders ease up as she sits back in her chair. "I'm sure he is," she hesitates, "It's just— I want you to be safe. The world is full of dangerous people and I simply want my daughter to be alright."
"Well Jungkook is not like that." You're unable to hide the defensiveness as it creeps into your voice — you're sure they both pick up on it. "There's nothing to worry about," you add after heaving another breath.
It's quiet for a while where neither of your parents make an attempt to say something. You deemed lunch to be over and rather than waiting for them to get a move on, you instead start collecting the unfinished plates of food — feeling your mother's eyes on you as you do.
It's your dad who takes it upon himself to break the silence. "Alright then," he leans back in his seat, slapping both hands onto the round table, the way he always would when he had something to announce.
You pause, just enough to raise him a brow, but he doesn't seem to take note of it as he instead says: "Why don't we head to the garage?" Next to him, your mom mouths something under her breath but her husband simply shakes his head as he gives her shoulder a pat.
"The garage?" you finally bring yourself to ask, hovering just short of grabbing his plate to stack it onto the others, "What for?"
To that he simply grins, "For your Christmas present of course."
"Is all of this really necessary?"
With your mother's hands resting over your eyes it was impossible to make out anything at all as they guide you down the hall. "I'm not a kid anymore," you remind them, but your parents are too busy biting back fits of giggles that had you wondering if perhaps you should be asking them that question instead.
"Careful now," your dad says when pushing a door open, "Lift your feet."
Doing as you're told, you step over the threshold without much difficulty. The garage is a lot colder than the rest of the house, the familiar smell that had always been a secret like of yours, infiltrating your senses immediately. "Can I open them yet?" The extreme measures they were going to actually excited you, though you wouldn't give either of them the satisfaction of knowing that.
"Just a second!" comes your father's voice from somewhere in the distance. You can hear him knocking a few supplies over, the action followed by a few muttered curses as your mother's fingers flex across your face.
He returns to your side a moment later, breath fanning across your shoulder. "Okay," he exhales, "Show her, honey."
The bright light is the first thing that hits you as your mom's hands fall away from your eyes. You squint, blinking rapidly as you adjust to your new surroundings. At first nothing sticks out. The old cans of paint, their unopened lids a tribute to your dad's abandoned idea of sprucing up the house. The packages of soil that your mom used to fill the flower beds in the front yard with.
But then your gaze lands on the car — not the old truck that had taken you everywhere as a child — no, an actual car. With a steel-grey surface, new tires and clear, polished windows. "What is—" you trail off, your attention lingering by the red bow that was tied to the windshield-wipers.
"Your father and I thought you could use something to get back and forth from school a little easier," your mom explains with a shy smile, "We know it's a hassle for your to commute everyday."
Too stunned to even form proper sentences, you stare at the vehicle in awe. This was yours? The model is certainly an upgrade from the old, green pick-up that had been in your family for as long as you could remember, and it had undoubtedly stretched their budget to its limits. "When did you…?"
"Had to pick it up three hours away," your father shrugs, "But it was worth the drive."
You pause, the pieces slowly clicking into place. "The trip… But I thought you were going on a Christmas vacation?" A twinge of guilt sparks through your chest at the thought of them sacrificing the holidays for this and your throat thickens when you meet your mom's eyes.
"We still went on the trip," she says, "With an additional detour of course." After a pause she adds, "Merry Christmas—"
The words have barely left her lips as you come crashing into her, wrapping her in a tight embrace. "Thank you," you whisper against her shoulder, unable to express your gratitude any better than this.
Your father's hand is warm and gentle on your back as he joins in on the hug. "I take it as a success then?" he says, and you can practically hear his grin. All you can do is fight back the tears steadily building as you swallow down a pathetic sob, nodding weakly as you turn to let his arms envelop you.
When you pull back enough to wipe the corner of your eye, you glance toward the car once more. "How did you afford this?" you ask, already frowning as you tried to count the costs for yourself, estimating staggering amounts and multiple zeroes that made you feel faint.
"We've been saving up," your mom says.
"Ever since you first left," you dad adds with a proud tilt of his head.
"And I've been picking up a few extra shifts at the store," she hums.
Your gaze jumps between them both, bottom lip already trembling again despite your attempts to calm yourself down just moments ago. "You really didn't have to," you murmur, "I mean— I'm fine taking the bus. You should be spending your money on yourself, not me!"
But your father is already shoving the keys into your palm, closing your fist around them before pressing a kiss to your forehead. "Only the best for our girl," he gestures toward the car, "Come on, won't you give it a spin?"
You hesitate for a second, peering over at the vehicle that was now proudly yours. Then you smile, "Yeah, I want to try it." Giving your parents one quick peck on their cheeks, you let them pull you back into their arms a second time. "I love you," the confession is muffled against the press of bodies, though you know they heard it.
Leaving home a second time was almost harder than the first. You thought that by now you would have it easier saying goodbye to your parents but the brief three-day stay had made you realize just how much you truly missed them. The hugs and whispered endearments go on for far longer than they should — making your departure all the more painful.
After a long thirty minutes where the three of you all shed a couple of tears — something your dad would never admit to — you pull out of the driveway.
The journey back would take you less than two hours but it was still enough time for you to sit alone with your thoughts for the first time since Christmas Day. And as your parent's house disappears in the rear view mirror, your mother and father's waving figures growing smaller and smaller until you could no longer see them, your mind finds its way back to what awaits you when returning to your apartment.
You and Jungkook hadn't been in touch since he'd dropped you off at the station that morning. The air had been crisp, the last snow settling over the ground, a few flakes falling into his hair as he got out of the car to walk you to the platform. A silly and stupid part of you had hoped he would kiss you, seize the rare moment of privacy after spending two days in his parents house and make good on his words from that night in the kitchen.
But Jungkook had simply nodded a quiet farewell when your train arrived. And he'd taken his leave before you even rolled out of the station.
Your fingers drum anxiously against the wheel as you drive down the lonesome road. It cuts through the forest, with tall pines crowding you both left and right. You still had a good couple of hours on your side before nightfall, making you relax as you ease up on the gas. No broadcast channel reached the car's radio out here and you were left to fill the silence on your own.
Jungkook inhabits most, if not all, of your thoughts. You replay Christmas Day over and over in your head. The soft caress of his pinky against yours as you sat on the couch, a stark difference to the cold shoulder he gave you during the rest of your stay.
Brushing pasting you on the stairs when you were headed up and he down. Both Mr. and Mrs. Jeon avoiding any kind of conversation with him during breakfast and dinner. Excusing himself to his room every couple of hours for 'work purposes' despite the holiday.
In the midst of it all you had tried to appear composed, like every subtle, non-verbal rejection didn't cut deeper than any blade. And by the time he dropped you off at the station, suppose you had felt some kind of relief at the three days of distance ahead of you.
You groan, stealing a glance at the necklace you wear in one of the side mirrors. Returning meant facing where you left off last and you weren't sure how that was to be done. However, with only a few days to spare until the new year there was a good chance he wouldn't ring you in to watch the children at all, thus postponing your inevitable conversation a while longer.
The idea comforts you enough to make the rest of your drive home.
Jungkook did not in fact, not wait, and his call came the very next day, giving you less than twenty-four hours to settle in back at your apartment after being away for almost an entire week. You were going through the pile of mail that had been shoved through the hatch in your door when the sound of your landline came tumbling down the hall.
You hadn't meant for the letters to slip through your fingers but they had anyway, and on quiet feet you'd approached your desk — picking up the phone with a final exhale.
The bruising static assaults your ears for a long moment. You should probably have said something by now, but words weren't coming. Once you've counted five long breaths does he finally speak:
"Are you in the middle of something?
His voice is too calm and for a second you almost forget how things had ended on Christmas Day — had it not been for the detached edge to it. You glance toward the abandoned mail by the front door, "No."
Jungkook sighs, he did not usually take this long to get his point across. His silence unnerved you slightly. "I need to swing by the office," he says before adding, "Just for an hour or two." The unspoken requests sits between you for a moment. You knew that he would be okay with you making up an excuse about not having time, perhaps he even expects you to.
"I can stop by," but then again, things very came easy for you, "Give me twenty minuets."
There's an exhale on the other end of the line, though you can't tell if he was relieved or simply acknowledging your agreement. "Alright," is all he says before the call cuts and your landline goes back to static.
That was one of the shortest conversations the two of you had ever held.
You had gotten well accustomed to the comforts of your new car by this point, making the ten minute drive to Jungkook's place feel like a breeze compared to the alternative of the bus. You distract yourself with music, humming along to whatever the local broadcast station was playing as your eyes gaze across the road.
But even the pop songs soon became background noise and by the time you reached the large house and killed the engine, you had decided that you would try to talk to him about what had been on your mind for the past couple of days.
"Can we talk—"
"I think it's a good idea if you and me have a conversation—"
Each line makes you shake your head. Sitting behind the wheel, you stare at the three-story estate through the windshield. Its white concrete walls felt less like a peace offering and more like an impending doom. Ridiculous really. The windows hold no movement, not even a flicker of a curtain, like it too, was waiting for something.
To hell with it, you think as you swing the car door open and step out. There was no point in prolonging the inevitable, you would have to face him eventually. And so you make your way to the front door, up the three stone steps before ringing the bell, just like you had so many times before.
Even with its bright, beige walls and glowing chandelier — the Jeon house fails to capture the warmth that had come so easy back at your parents'. It had been more than a week since you last set foot here, that was the longest you'd ever been parted from the high ceilings and soft carpets since first taking on the position — and in that time you had managed to forget just how hollow this place could feel.
Jungkook didn't say much when he opened the door for you. He was already dressed for work. Gone were the soft sweaters he'd worn during the holidays, the smile you would catch him trying to hide or the way his eyes lingered on yours when no one else was looking.
The man in front of you today is a shell of himself. Stripped down until only the firm line of his jaw and his furrowed brows remain. He takes your coat from you without a word, hanging it up alongside the children's with methodical care. You're wearing the shoes he got you but he doesn't glance at them once.
"Will you be heading out soon?" you ask when slipping the sneakers off your feet.
He nods, "Just need to get some paperwork from my study." He doesn't wait for you to say anything else, turning on his heel before you can even heave your next breath as he heads toward the stairs.
It was then you noticed that neither Cassian nor Rayne had made an appearance. The silence which had always been a custom in this house now felt oppressive. You missed the youngest's laughter, even his sister's remarks and the sound of her flipping pages in whatever book she read. And in front of you, Jungkook has almost disappeared from view entirely.
"Wait—!" you scramble after him, clutching at the banister as you dart up the stairs. He's already by the door to his home-office when you finally catch up to him, one of his hands curled around the knob that he'd been prepared to turn.
He tilts his head over his shoulder, giving you a long glance that held none of the warmth he'd been reserving for you these past couple of weeks.
"Do you have a minute?" your fingers are toying with one another, unable to keep still as you await his response. "I'd like to talk."
Jungkook shakes his head. "I have to get to work," he jerks his chin toward the library, "The children are in there." The finality that laces his voice fills you with disappointment and you watch as he pushes the door to his study open to step inside.
For a long moment you simply wait. Through the crack you can see him move about, collecting papers and stapling them together before he slides them into accompanying folders. Your gaze darts to where the kids wait for you — torn between duty and something far more complicated.
In the end, the latter wins out and you storm after him as you shove the door open with more force than necessary. It hits the wall with a thud, not hard enough to rattle the paintings on them, and not hard enough to grab Jungkook's attention as he continues to sort through his files.
"It won't take long," you're determined to see this through, to get to the bottom of whatever this was. But he doesn't acknowledge you, save for the sigh he lets out, a little louder than the last. You can feel your throat tighten at his blatant dismissal, and the words come gushing out before you can stop them:
"Did I do something wrong?"
He pauses at that, the folder currently in his hands bending slightly under the pressure he put onto it. Though you could only see half his face, the frown he wears and the tension to his jawline is unmistakable. "What?" he asks flatly.
You want to scoff but all you manage is a huff, a strained noise that betrays just how easy it was for him to make you feel things out of your control. "I'm asking you if I did something wrong," you step forward, pushing your shoulders back and lifting your chin.
Jungkook remains indifferent, his head shaking slowly as he reaches for the briefcase sitting on his desk, the one you had yet to notice. "No," he says, his tone never rising above its default octave, "You haven't." He sounds so sure of himself and it makes you desperately want to believe him.
Only, you can't. Not when he wasn't even looking at you, much less talking to you. "Well it feels like I have," you shoot back, "So then what is it?"
A muscle in his jaw ticks as he stuffs the organized folders into the case, sealing it shut with a rough jerk. "Nothing," he grits through clenched teeth, "You've done nothing wrong."
You let out an exasperated breath, "Well there must be something." Gesturing vaguely to the space that still exists between the two of you, "You don't talk to me, you don't get close to me, hell, you won't even look at me."
The briefcase hits the desk loudly as Jungkook slams it down onto the mahogany wood. He exhales something that sounds almost like a hiss, as though he was holding off on saying things he shouldn't.
"I need to get to the office," he echoes, "We can talk later."
He grabs his things, ready to leave — only for you to stop him as you get in his way. "No," you say, halting him in his tracks. His chest nudges yours, a touch that would've send fireworks through your stomach on any other occasion, now it just makes you sick. "I want us to talk now."
Jungkook's brows pull together, lips pressing into a firm line. The grip he has on his briefcase is white-knuckled, yet he says nothing for a long while. Then he exhales sharply through his nose, "You're being unreasonable."
The way he says it, like a statement of disapproval, like you were just some kid who's silence he had a right to order. It infuriates you in a way Jungkook had never been able to before.
"Me?" The accusation tastes bitter on your tongue, "I'm being unreasonable?" Had you been able to take another step forward you would have done so, but your bodies were practically pressed together by this point. "You haven't said three words to me since Christmas Day, and even then you avoided me all afternoon!" your hands are thrown in the air, gesturing wildly to nothing in particular.
A headache is steadily building behind your eyes, whether it came from anger, exhaustion, desperation, you didn't know, all you know are the feelings in your chest that beg to be let out. "Then at the train station you didn't even—" the frantic flailing of your arms come to an abrupt stop and you swallow the last bits of your confession down.
Jungkook pauses just as you do, his gaze heavy with an accusation that matches your own. "Didn't even what?" he asks and your heart draws back at the tone he used.
For a while you debate on not saying anything at all. To mutter a 'forget it' and walk off to the children, pretending that everything was fine. You trap the inside of your cheek between your teeth, gnawing on it before letting go again.
"You didn't even kiss me."
There's a small crack in his structured exterior, a quick flash of surprise passing by his eyes, only for him to conceal it again. Jungkook blinks once, then shakes his head. "I thought it'd be better if I didn't," he says.
"What…?" He doesn't respond, you knew he wouldn't. The roaring fire inside of you is put out as though someone had dumped a bucket of water over it. Better if he didn't? You let your gaze drop to the floor, to where your feet were but an inch from nudging his — yet Jungkook had never felt further away.
Your next breath catches on your quivering bottom lip — you hadn't even noticed that you were close to crying — and you press them together as you struggle to swallow. "I just—" fingers tapping against your thigh, "I thought that there was more to us." You frown, almost tripping over your sentence.
It feels devastating to say, to willingly confirm the theory you had been building on with dread. And perhaps it really was true. Perhaps you had let yourself get strung along, let yourself get lost somewhere between the lingering touches and the chaste kisses.
Jungkook's face twists into a painful grimace as he forces himself to look away, leaving you to watch with a sinking heart as he chews on his next words. His brows twitch once before settling across his forehead. "I have never lied to you," he says. While his tone remains leveled, his jaw clench and unclench as he battles the vulnerability that followed the admission.
"I don't understand…" If each second spent in his embrace had been real, each kiss and each gentle touch to your skin, then why hide? For weeks you'd been able to place your concerns with his children, delude yourself into thinking that the line between you existed solely because of Cassian and Rayne. But this sudden distance, it was different, and the tremor to his hand, still wrapped around the handle of his briefcase betrays him.
Your frown returns tenfold as you regard him with scrutiny. "What are you so afraid of?"
The simple question becomes his undoing as it unwinds the last fragile threads that keep him together. Jungkook's head whips in your direction, his eyes blazing hot when they zero in on you. "A lot of things!" He snaps, finally breaking free of his monotone confinement as he shouts the words in your face.
Jungkook had never raised his voice at you. Never. And you found that you absolutely hated it. He must see it too, for he immediately takes a step back, the briefcase slipping from his grasp and landing on the floor with a thud. His chest rises and falls, quick and uneven as he tries to rein himself back in.
A full minute passes without you daring to even open your mouth. He doesn't either, until finally, his chin drops in defeat. "I can't—" teeth trapping his bottom lip, he bites down hard enough to draw blood. When he speaks again, it's no longer a yell, it's something uncharacteristically small, his next confession slipping out soundlessly, "I can't give you what you want."
You stare at him in silence, measuring the space between you as you glance toward the briefcase on the ground. "What?" You don't register the question until its left your lips, but Jungkook does.
"It means I can't." He inhales, dragging a hand down his face before forcing it through the hair he'd styled before your arrival. His other one, covered in ink, points vaguely to you, never actually touching. "Whatever this is, it's not right to you."
A tiny flame flickers inside of you, and you're quick to disagree. "You don't know that." Who was he to tell you what was right and what wasn't, who was he to decide for the both of you?
Jungkook huffs, "Maybe not." His voice is filled with self-deprecation as he continues, "But I know that we can't keep playing house while I pretend that I'm not being extremely selfish."
Is that what he thinks this is? That you were here doing charity work with both him and his children — that Cassian and Rayne were nothing but dolls which you moved around as you pleased?
"Don't act like this wasn't my choice just as much as it was yours," you say, closing the distance between you again when taking another step forward.
The intensity had yet to dull from his eyes, but he still made no move to back away when you force proximity onto him. He gives you a long once-over, gaze dragging over every inch of you, the way that would always make your skin prickle. Without missing a beat he bends down to pick up the discarded briefcase.
"Then let me be selfish one last time and take that choice away from you."
It's the last thing he says before brushing past you and before you can even register what's happening, the door to his study slams shut behind him — leaving you alone with the remnants of the fire you both started. And suddenly you thought yourself stupid for defending him so adamantly in front of your parents.
You feel like an intruder when walking into the library where the children sit gathered around their usual table. Cassian looks up at your arrival, his face cracking into a beaming grin as he waves enthusiastically. "Nanny!" he calls out as he beckons you over.
The smile you give him in return doesn't feel genuine and you berate yourself for it. Still, you try your hardest to act like your heart wasn't in complete shambles after your conversation with their father just moments ago.
"Hi sweetie. What are you up to?" You sink down on the chair next to his, your arm coming to rest against the back of it as you lean closer to better see the drawing he was working on. The rainbow crayons you had gotten him for Christmas seemed to be well-used, and you study the depiction of a large fish with sharp teeth on the paper.
"I'm painting," he says, pointing to the art work.
"I see that. Is it a fish?" you ask when running your fingers through his hair, trying to maintain some semblance of normalcy.
He shakes his head, "A shark."
"Ah, of course." In your defense, the creature on the paper resembled very little of a shark, but you didn't tell him that, content to watch him draw a little while longer.
Rayne sits opposite him, one of the books she had gotten from her grandfather opened in front of her as she reads. She gave a subtle nod as a means of saying hello, your eyes meeting for a brief second before she went back to the contents of her pages.
You hadn't seen the kids since Christmas Day and while you had missed them both dearly — Jungkook had occupied most of your thoughts during your stay with your parents. Sitting with them now lessens the ache left by their father's words significantly.
"Daddy said you went to see your parents," Cassian muses as he colors in the wonky-looking fin of his shark.
Humming softly, you let your hand fall to the back of his chair again. "I did," the corner of your lip twitches, "They gave me a Christmas present."
At that he stops drawing, glancing up at you with newfound curiosity. "What did you get?" he asks.
You think back to the moment in the garage at home. Your dad's grand surprise and your mom's hard work. It wasn't often you found yourself thinking about them like this, suppose it had something to do with the rollercoaster of emotions that today had been. Meeting Cassian's gaze, you give him the first real smile you'd worn all day, "A car."
"A car?!" The crayons are completely forgotten about as the young boy twists in his seat, eyes wide as saucers. "A real car?" he questions, and when you nod he practically leaps out of his seat.
Rayne, too, had stopped reading and was now watching you with a look of mild surprise. Though she kept quiet as the library echoed with her brother's excitement. "Can I see it? I want to see it!" He's already on his feet, halfway across the room as he heads for the door.
You get up after him, "Sure we can. I can even take you both for a drive somewhere if you'd like?"
"But it's snowing," Rayne speaks up for the first time since you entered, her brows furrowed in concern.
"I'm a decent driver," you tell her with a confident shrug, "You know that."
She hesitates for a second, fingers picking at the corner of her page — but even she wasn't immune to Cassian's giddy laughter. The book is shut and she hops off her chair to join you both. "We'll see about that," she says with a huff, though does a poor job at hiding her small grin.
The three of you head downstairs with Cassian in the lead as he dashes for the font door, eagerly pulling on his shoes, albeit clumsily. You kneel down to help him, easily falling back into the habit of tying his laces.
"Can I sit in the front?" he asks as he watches you work.
"You're too small for that," you tell him, having already anticipated the whine that followed.
There was still a sense of peace that came whenever you were around the children. It was never intentional on their part, least of all Rayne who was still muttering to herself as she pulled on her coat, but without knowing, they brought joy to a day you would otherwise deem ruined.
Once you're all geared up and ready to go, Cassian suddenly freezes. "Wait—" he says, bottom lip jutting out into a small frown, "I need to get Frank." That was what he'd ended up naming the stegosaurus plushie you had gotten him for Christmas, who now apparently counted as an important member of the family.
He scurries down the hall, already headed up the stairs when Rayne sighs. "I'll go with him, he's not allowed to have his shoes on inside." You hadn't even noticed that she'd rid herself of her own footwear, standing in only her socks as she give you a quick nod — then she's gone after her little brother.
You listen to the joint sounds of their footsteps on the second floor, Cassian's excited giggles as he rummages around for his beloved dinosaur. The car keys rest in your palm and you peer down at them with a fond smile. You don't know how you would be able to repay your parents' gesture, but you'd figure something out.
A minute passes and you're just about to call out and ask how the kids were doing when the sudden knock to the front door pulls your attention away from the keys. Strange. Jungkook couldn't possibly have returned so soon, even if he did, he had no reason to knock.
Two months you had spent in this house, and not once had there been a visitor besides yourself. Not even a second later, the knocking returns. Three sharp and impatient raps against the wood. Why not use the doorbell — unless they were anxious to alert the wrong person?
Throwing a glance over your shoulder, you find the staircase empty, Cassian and Rayne were still nowhere to be seen. You approach the door cautiously, fist closing around your car keys, the metal was blunt enough to cause damage, should the person on the other side prove themselves a threat.
The knocking returns after a beat's silence and you inhale a deep breath before twisting the lock and pushing the door open.
You don't know who you had expected to see. A big, scary stranger with a mask on, a delivery man maybe, hell, even a clown who'd gotten the wrong address for a birthday party.
What you find is none of that — but a woman.
She looks to be in her early thirties, perhaps late twenties, though the dark circles under her eyes and deep frown she was wearing might've added on a couple of years. Her dark hair is a mess, tangled where it falls down her shoulders. She's not dressed for the weather, clad in only a thin fleece which had her wrapping her arms around her torso.
To put it simply; she looked rough.
Your grip loosens on the keys you had been clutching, your other hand holding onto the doorframe as you study her. What business could she possibly have here?
"Hi," you try to sound friendly as you greet her, "Can I help you?"
Her eyes find yours in an instant and for a second you could've sworn you saw Rayne in them. But that illusion is quickly broken as they dart around the front porch she stands on, skittish in the way they jump back and forth. "Yes," she says, her voice a low rasp, as though she hadn't used it in a while.
When her gaze finally finds its way back to yours, her expression has fixed itself into something more composed. She parts her chapped lips, tongue darting out to swipe across the bottom one.
"I'm here to see my children."
── [ ✉️ ] Woah. Okay there, before you jump on me and say "Ugh. Ki I hate when they bring back the ex wife in fics like these." Let me stop you right there. Pause. Big deep breath in and out for me. Okay, good? I have a plan, not a concept of a plan but an actual solidified plan. So just trust me for this and sit tight for the upcoming chapters, I know what I'm doing. I won't fumble you ladies <3
baby i could treat you so good you just have to get past my strange and off-putting demeanor and my kubrick stare and my inability to behave like a human and the 40 layers of icy fortress walls i have up and answer my riddles three
quiet.전정국 ・ jjk x f!reader ・ nsfw ・ not proof read
wc 1.4k
synopsis a secret relationship, a hotel, and jungkook. based off this request.
content oral (f!receiving), fingering, soft jk, praise, penetrative sex, unsafe sex
a/n js did my nails so this took forever (also ignore any mistakes.. it’s hard to type..). first fic abt jk and he’s literally my ult but anyway. tysm for the request i loved it!! i had some fun w it, hope this does it justice :)
Jungkook always has been spontaneous, so you shouldn’t have been shocked when he bought you a plane ticket.
The two of you had been seeing each other for months, the separation from the tour had definitely taken a toll on you. And, it wasn’t like you could vent to anyone because he’s so busy, and not to mention the fact that his members don’t know.
Despite being close with them you never told them. You felt bad, but it did add a level of thrill to your life. Sneaking around, stolen glances, secret kisses, it was all worth it in the end.
You were given little guidance upon landing, just the hotel address and room number. You packed light with just a duffle bag, knowing this would be a quick trip.
You meant to be stealthy but of course, Hobi spotted you in the lobby, his voice calling your name cutting through any thoughts you were thinking.
“What are you doing here?” He said through a smile, hurrying over to give you a hug.
“I came to surprise you guys! It’s been so long,” not really a lie, but not the truth either.
“Jungkookie’s gonna be so excited. I swear, he loves you more than us.” He huffs.
“Let me go get checked in. I’ll find you later?” Hobi nodded before walking off to whatever he had been doing before your arrival, and you headed for the elevators.
Of course, the word had gotten out that you were there. The boys adored you, but at a time like this when you just wanted to see your boyfriend, it threw you off.
The elevator dings open to Jungkook’s floor. You hear a door open and you stare down, hoping not to get noticed, but the light voice that sung through the air stopped you.
“Ya!” You had to admit, you missed that pretty voice and pretty man.
“Jimin! I missed you!” You turn to give the boy a hug. “Your hair,” you note, your fingers gently running through the ends.
“You like it?”
“I love it, it suits you so well.”
“What about my hair?” Your heart did a backflip. The one voice you had been waiting weeks to hear.
“Jungkook,” you turned, your voice soft and full of disbelief. Time had slowed, everything was forgotten. You hugged him tight. It had been a hard few weeks of brief texts and occasional phone calls. You were so happy to be in his arms again—but you remembered you had company.
You cleared your throat and stepped back, Jimin eyeing the two of you.
“I’ll help you to your room?” Jungkook asked, nodding down the hall.
“Yeah, thanks. See you, Jimin.” You nod to the confused blonde who watched you walk away with his best friend after just having seen a scene straight out of a romcom.
In Jungkook’s room, you set your bag down and all your pent up feelings of the past weeks started to boil over the second the door locked.
His hands found your hips, spinning you around to face him as he slowly walked you back towards the bed, your knees hitting the edge as you sat and laid down.
His smile couldn’t be wiped off even through kisses. You could feel his smirk against your lips and skin as he shifted down.
“Wait, we can’t,” you managed to say when you felt his fingers toying with the waistband of your bottoms.
It was late. The hotel was dead silent. Wall to wall, his members surrounded the room. There was no way you could be together without being heard.
He knew what you were thinking. He was thinking it too, only it didn’t scare him. It excited him.
“Can you stay quiet for me?” He looked up at you with those puppy eyes as he sunk down to his knees. A careful nod was all he needed to pull down your bottoms and get your legs spread.
He nestled his face between your legs, his nose bumping against your clit making you twitch. Going so long without him had made you so sensitive, it was a struggle to hold back your moans and he hadn’t even touched you yet.
He was sure to make note of that.
“You’re so wet and we haven’t even started.” He smirked. His tongue stuck out to flick at your hole through your panties, the touch barely there but enough to have you aching for more.
“Kook, please,” you breathed out as his tongue licked more deliberately, his fingers pulling your underwear to the side for him to properly dive in.
Your hand clamped over your mouth to silence any sounds you just couldn’t contain. He ate you out like he was a man starved, and truly he was.
“Missed you, missed this pussy.” He grunted between licks and open mouthed kisses. “Been dying to taste you again.”
“Don’t stop,” you said quietly, your voice muffled by your hand. “Please, please,” you repeated. You weren’t even sure what you were asking for, your mind a haze from the pleasure.
Your hips twitched when a long finger effortlessly slid into you. Then another. Both curling just right to hit that spot Jungkook knew so well. Another finger had you moaning into your hand, loud enough for Jungkook to worry.
“Shh, it’s okay baby.” He cooed, planting a soft kiss on your clit before resuming his attack with his tongue. His fingers sped up, curling and thrusting deep into you.
“Koo, I’m close.” Your back arched. Vision went white. Immense pleasure took over, and the next thing you know, Jungkook is on his feet grinning with your release all over his mouth.
“Have fun?” You joked, your hand coming up to wipe his face.
“Very much.” He leaned down to kiss you as he repositioned you against the pillows and then climbed on top of you. “I missed you so much.” He said before kissing you, not giving you a chance to reply.
Clothes weee discarded through the many kisses until you were both bare in front of each other, taking in what you missed so much.
“You okay?” He asked with those big eyes, his hand positioning his hard member with your hole.
“Couldn’t be better.” You replied with a smile.
He started to push in, the stretch familiar but still a stretch nonetheless. At times it hurt, but you pushed through knowing what was coming. Your arms wrapped around his neck as he bottomed out and you were completely full of him.
“So tight, fuck—missed this so much.” His head dropped into your neck as he moved, pulling out a few careful inches before thrusting back in. As his thrusts picked up speed, your legs wrapped around his waist, heels digging into his back encouraging him further.
“Feels so good. So good for me.” He chanted praise, his hips snapping deep into yours and hitting spots only he could reach.
You could feel yourself getting closer, unintentionally clenching around him.
“Fuck, you do that and I’m not gonna last.”
“Jungkook—ah, Jungkook,”
All you could feel was him. His warm breath on your neck, hands roaming all over you, him inside you, it was a mantra and it was all you could think.
“Kookie,” you tried to whisper, but frankly neither of you cared about being loud anymore. It was just the two of you, reunited after far too long, all you cared about was each other.
You couldn’t worry about anything else of you wanted to, not when you were on the brink of release with your boyfriend not far behind.
With one more thrust you came, gushing and clenching around his cock, his thrusts becoming inconsistent and erratic.
“Shit, where do you want it?”
“Inside,” you say in almost a whisper, your voice weak. You felt him twitch inside you at the single word.
“Oh shit,” the moan he let out was almost pornographic. You moan at the feeling, his hot cum coating your insides as he fell onto his forearms above you.
“That was fucking amazing.” He breathed heavily, totally spent but still managing to smirk at you.
“There’s no way they didn’t hear that.” You look up, referring to the members who he shares a wall with.
“I don’t care anymore.” He nuzzled his face into your neck.
summary: desperate to see if a man devoted to god will unravel, you test his faith with your sweet, deceptive innocence—seducing fr. jeon until his devotion no longer belongs to god…but to you.
warnings: priest jungkook x sinful reader, explicit sexual content, forbidden relationship, candle wax play, rosary choking, edging, clit rubbing, filthy sexual desires, spitting, degradation, mock sympathy, pussy eating, condescending dirty talk, blow job, cum eating, usage of whore & slut, praising, cum eating, m. masturbation, manipulation, multiple orgasms, rough sex, overstimulation, fingering, penetrative sex, creampie.
⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂˚₊┈┈୨୧┈┈‧₊˚⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂
Temptation, they said, was the devil's favorite weapon…subtle, patient, and often disguised as something beautiful.
Your beauty was the kind that invited sin. Like a priceless painting in a museum, admired by many but forbidden to touch, existing only to test the restraint of those who stood before it.
Yet despite the effect you seemed to have on everyone else, Fr. Jeon remained frustratingly untouched by it all. Men had always looked twice, their attention lingering long enough to make their interest known. But his eyes never lingered on you. They would meet yours for a fleeting moment before moving on, calm and unwavering, carrying the same gentle warmth they offered every soul that walked through the church doors.
Pathetic.
Wearing a long white virginal skirt, a matching conservative blouse, and your hair falling neatly down your waist, you grabbed your purse before heading downstairs to meet Sana.
“Glad you finally wore something decent,” Sana commented with a sheepish smile when she saw you stepping out of your house.
You pouted, looking down at the modest skirt fluttering around your ankles. “My cute dresses are decent too, you know.”
You weren’t a very religious person, but when your friend Sana told you she wanted to join the church choir, you were more than happy to come with her.
Between the two of you, she was the religious one—always carrying a small pocket bible in her purse, always reminding you to watch your words and actions because God was watching.
A lot of your friends were confused about how the two of you became so close. You were playful, rebellious, and bratty—more of a bad influence beside someone so polite and devout. But despite your mischievous nature, you were very sweet, friendly and charming. At university, you were one of the popular students, with plenty of friends and a reputation as a social butterfly.
When you first met Sana, you hadn’t expected the two of you to get along. She was a new student, still adjusting to the unfamiliar environment and trying to find her place among the other students. Being the friendly social butterfly that you were, you became the first person to approach her.
Your personalities couldn’t have been more different. Sana was calm, reserved, and quiet, while you were bold, bright, and loud.
Despite being complete opposites, the two of you grew unexpectedly close. You liked Sana because she was a breath of fresh air. Her calmness grounded the chaos within you, while your playfulness brought balance and excitement to her peaceful life.
Ever since you became best friends, you often accompanied her to church. Although you looked somewhat out of place trailing behind her while she helped with various church duties, volunteer work, and parish activities...you still enjoyed spending time with her.
You liked how she always listened to your rants and endless rambles. Following her around while she busied herself carrying boxes and helping wherever she could, your kitten heels clicked softly against the church’s marbled floors, and the longest dress you could find in your closet swayed gently with every step. As unusual as it felt to be dressed so modestly, you couldn’t deny that you enjoyed these moments with Sana.
Your usual style of dressing didn’t exactly align with the church’s dress code… you had to trade your short skirts, midriff-baring tops, tight dresses, and cute spaghetti-strap tops for something more... demure.
At first, you tried to argue against it, but Sana quickly reminded you that those clothes weren’t appropriate for church. And of course, you had no choice but to listen unless you wanted another lecture about being a poor instrument of the Lord.
“Since when did you become a singer?” you teased as the two of you entered the church alongside a few parishioners and choir members.
Sana was dressed similarly to you, wearing a long skirt paired with a flowy long-sleeved blouse. In her right hand, she carried a small booklet filled with choir songs.
She pouted. “I can sing a bit, you know.” she opened the booklet and flipped through its pages. “As long as I’m serving the Lord, then no voice shall sound bad.”
You chuckled, already accustomed to her holy little remarks.
“If you say so,” you sang back playfully, following her up to the choir loft. You offered a polite smile to the other choir members, who were already busy practicing.
Since you weren’t actually there to join the choir, you let Sana focus on rehearsal while you wandered around the church on your own. Normally, you would have spent the entire time chatting her ear off, rambling about anything and everything, but today you let her concentrate.
A few parishioners were arranging fresh flowers around the framed images of saints, while others carefully dusted and polished the statues lining the church walls. The distant voices of the choir drifted through the air, blending with the soft murmur of prayers and quiet conversations, creating a peaceful atmosphere that settled gently around you.
When Sana first invited you to come with her to church, you had agreed out of nothing more than curiosity. You traded your usual weekend night outs for sunday mass, wanting to see the world through her eyes and understand why this place, with its quiet prayers and solemn rituals, meant so much to her.
The church offered a kind of quiet that rarely existed in your everyday life. Away from crowded parties, endless conversations, and the glittering chaos of your social circle, there was something unexpectedly comforting about this place. It gave you a chance to slow down, to breathe, and to simply exist without needing to be the loudest person in the room.
“Good morning, Fr. Jeon.” a few choir members and parishioners greeted.
You turned around absentmindedly, your head tilting curiously when you saw a priest entering through one of the church's side doors. Dressed in a long black cassock, he offered everyone a warm smile and a slight bow as he stepped inside.
A new priest?
“Are you here for the charity blessing, Fr. Jeon?” someone asked.
The woman approached him and received a gentle pat on the head in return.
He smiled. “Yes, I stopped by to gather a few materials for the blessing.”
Your head tilted slightly as you watched him, finding yourself taking an unconscious step forward.
A handsome fucking priest.
For the past few months that you'd been spending time at the church with Sana, this was the first time you'd seen him, and unfortunately for your soul, he was ridiculously attractive.
You found yourself shamelessly staring, almost in awe as he greeted everyone with effortless kindness.
He bowed politely, acknowledged each person with a warm smile, and listened attentively whenever someone spoke to him. It should've been a crime for a priest to be that good-looking.
Sinful.
The long black cassock he wore looked attractively sinful wrapped around someone so impossibly holy, the stark contrast only making him harder to ignore. His sharp jawline became more pronounced whenever he turned to greet someone with a kind smile, and a pair of thin-framed glasses rested neatly on his nose, lending him an air of quiet intelligence that did absolutely nothing to help your situation. His eyes were dark and warm behind the lenses, attentive whenever he listened to someone speak, and his jet-black hair was styled neatly, though a few stubborn strands had fallen across his forehead.
Everything about him looked composed, dignified, and entirely inappropriate for the thoughts currently running through your head.
You almost let out a dramatic gasp when Fr. Jeon finally waved his goodbye and turned to leave. A curse nearly slipped from your lips as you watched him make his way toward the church doors.
Everyone else had managed to greet him and earn one of his warm smiles, some even receiving a fond pat on the head. Meanwhile, you had spent the entire time standing near the altar, staring at him like an absolute creep, too mesmerized by his existence.
Internally rolling your eyes at yourself and the sheer ridiculousness of the situation, you watched him disappear through the church doors. And then, because apparently your dignity had already left the building before he did, you immediately made your way back to Sana, who was still busy practicing her choir lines.
“So...” you began, trailing behind Sana as she walked around with her booklet, quietly memorizing her choir pieces.
“Is Fr. Jeon a real priest?”
Sana lowered the booklet and stared at you, her brows knitting together as she caught the suspicious wiggle of your eyebrows.
“Huh?”
“I mean...” you hesitated. “Is he a real priest or, like… an intern priest?”
The moment the words left your mouth, you realized how stupid they sounded.
Was there even such a thing as a priest internship?
Sana blinked. Then she burst out laughing. “He's a real priest, Y/N. What do you mean, intern priest?”
Your cheeks immediately warmed. You looked away while she continued laughing, lifting the booklet back up as you followed after her.
You pouted. “Well... he looks young.” And hot. “And I've never seen him before. Every time I've attended mass with you, he wasn't the presider.”
You tried to think back to the past few months but came up empty. No handsome priests. Because if there had been one, you definitely would've remembered.
In fact, you were pretty sure you would've started sitting in the front row.
“Yeah, because he only got appointed recently,” Sana answered, her attention back on the booklet. “A few months ago, I think.”
You bit the inside of your cheek, almost groaning when you haven’t met him before he got appointed.
What the fuck, Y/N. Are you seriously eyeing a priest?
Absolutely not. That was...unholy!
For the following weeks, you found yourself clinging to Sana more than usual.
At first, you convinced yourself it wasn't anything out of the ordinary. Going to church with her wasn't exactly new.
You just weren't nearly as consistent as she was.
There were plenty of sundays you skipped altogether, choosing late nights with your friends over early mornings in church. Besides, you figured there would always be another mass to attend, while convincing Sana to show up at one of your parties was practically impossible.
That was why you never attended as regularly as she did.
Lately, however, the situation seemed to have reversed. Now, you were the one volunteering to come.
Party invitations sat unanswered in your messages. Night outs were declined without hesitation. Instead, you found yourself asking Sana about choir practice, church activities, and whether she planned on volunteering for any upcoming events.
It was becoming a little concerning.
Wearing one of your now-usual long skirts and a modest blouse approved by church standards, you applied an extra layer of lip gloss in front of your mirror. Excitement bubbled inside you as you remembered what Sana had told you earlier that week—a charity event was coming up, and the church needed volunteers to help organize donations.
There had been plenty of charity events before, many of which you had skipped. Sana would usually spend the entire day helping sort donations and assisting the parishioners, leaving little time for the two of you to actually spend together. As much as you enjoyed tagging along with her, wandering around the church by yourself for hours wasn't exactly appealing.
This time, however, you were genuinely excited to come.
It wasn't as though you couldn't visit the church on your own. Nobody would stop you if you decided to drop by one afternoon.
The problem was that it would be… strange.
Ever since you started coming to church, it had always been because of Sana. Everyone knew you as her friend, not as someone particularly devoted to the church.
If you suddenly started showing up by yourself every weekend, people would notice. You weren't exactly known for your devotion.
Especially when the answer involved a certain priest.
It was already strange enough that you were beginning to resemble a devoted Christian.
False piety.
When you arrived at the church, your heartbeat picked up immediately. Volunteers moved in and out of the building carrying boxes and supplies, conversations blending into a lively hum that filled the grounds.
“You can help with the boxes, Y/N. I'll just talk to the choir members,” Sana said with a smile.
You nodded a little too eagerly, grateful she didn’t question your sudden burst of interest in coming with her to church. It helped that you had accompanied her before—enough for it to not feel completely out of the blue.
“Okay! I'll help with the boxes!” you smiled brightly.
The moment Sana wandered off to join the other choir members, you immediately began looking around for ways to help.
“Let me carry those,” you offered with a bright smile, reaching for a volunteer struggling with a stack of old toy boxes meant for donation.
The woman thanked you and asked if you could bring them outside, where a small truck was parked to collect everything.
You happily agreed.
“I hope he comes today,” you muttered under your breath as you carried the boxes toward the truck, your eyes drifting toward the church entrance every few seconds.
According to Sana, Fr. Jeon frequently stopped by to check on donation drives, visit the parish office, or help coordinate volunteer work.
You had already carried nine boxes, then… ten. With every trip back and forth, you found yourself slowly losing hope that Fr. Jeon would show up at all. You were starting to regret wearing your cutest pink skirt today, and the growing disappointment was beginning to settle in alongside your irritation.
Just as you were about to accept that all your effort had been wasted, Fr. Jeon finally appeared, walking into the church hall.
Your eyes widened.
“Fuck—” you immediately winced, biting your lip the moment the word escaped. Mentally apologizing for cursing inside the church.
With a fresh box of donations balanced in your arms, you hurried toward the entrance, trying your best to look useful, helpful and responsible. Like the kind of person who volunteered here regularly and wasn't secretly waiting for your handsome priest to show up.
Your heart hammered against your ribs when he finally glanced in your direction.
“Good day,” he greeted with a smile and a polite nod, raising his right hand to gently pat your head.
Your cheeks immediately flushed, almost dropping the boxes when he touched you.
He patted my head!
Today, he was dressed in a fitted black long-sleeved shirt tucked neatly into black slacks, a simple brown cross necklace resting against his chest. His jet-black hair was styled neatly away from his face, exposing a heart-shaped forehead that made him look unfairly handsome. He wore his usual pair of glasses, the thin frames resting on the bridge of his nose and softening the sharpness of his features. Behind the lenses, his round eyes looked steady and attentive, always observant, as if he noticed everything without ever needing to say so.
Goodness gracious.
Your gaze drifted lower, almost shamelessly staring…only to pause on his right hand.
You frowned slightly, you wanted to take a longer look, but his sleeves hid the rest of his arms from view, making it impossible to tell how far they extended.
Was that a tattoo?
For some reason, that discovery stunned you more than it should have. Priests and tattoos weren't exactly a combination you'd ever imagined together.
You were so distracted staring at his hand that you didn't realize he had already walked past you and moved on to greet the other volunteers.
You didn't even greet him back! Oh God.
Panic immediately settled in your chest. Adjusting your grip on the donation box, you hurried after him, determined to salvage the interaction somehow. You just needed a reason to talk to him.
A simple religious question, maybe?
Unfortunately, your brain had chosen this exact moment to stop working.
You couldn't exactly walk up to him and ask if priests were allowed to have tattoos. Nor could you suddenly start quoting bible verses when the majority of your religious knowledge came from Sana lecturing you every other week.
You wanted to sound natural and virginal.
The problem was that you had absolutely no idea how to start a holy conversation without sounding fake about it, like you were trying too hard to be someone you weren’t.
When you saw him entering the church office, you frowned and stomped your foot against the floor in irritation.
Pity.
You were a bit disappointed when his gaze didn’t even linger on you. You were used to boys in college always noticing you…showing their interest, getting swayed by your pretty face and charming personality. But here, inside the church, you were nothing more than another kind volunteer in his eyes—someone he greeted with the same calm respect he gave everyone else.
Importunate.
At this point, it had become a routine. You would come to church with Sana after school, grateful she had joined the choir because it gave you an excuse to be there almost every day instead of only on weekends.
While she attended rehearsals, you spent your afternoons helping with volunteer work and assisting the parishioners...all while discreetly searching the church grounds for your future boyfriend.
You even started dressing for it—slipping into the most “virginal” outfits your closet could offer in hopes of blending in. Long skirts, conservative blouses, dresses that covered everything they possibly could. It was almost laughable how much effort you put into looking like the perfect church girl, when a few months ago you would’ve rather died than be seen in half of these outfits.
The worst part was that it wasn't even guaranteed to work.
There were days when your timing simply didn't align. You would arrive at the church only to hear that Fr. Jeon had already stopped by earlier, or spend the afternoon helping around the parish before finding out he had come and gone while you were busy elsewhere. Sometimes you would leave just before he arrived, missing him by mere minutes.
You would come home without seeing even a glimpse of him, staring at your ceiling later that night and wondering why you felt so deflated over someone you barely knew.
Then there were the good days—when your schedules happened to align and you finally saw him. Your eyes would immediately light up the moment you spotted him across the church grounds, your smile growing brighter despite your attempts to act normal, your cheeks burning whenever he greeted you with that gentle smile and absentminded pat on the head.
Transgression.
At first, seeing him had been enough. Now, however, you found yourself expecting more. Not much...just a conversation that lasted longer than a few seconds. Something beyond charity drives, donation boxes, retreats, and volunteer work.
But Fr. Jeon was frustratingly...polite.
He greeted everyone with the same kindness, smiled at everyone with the same warmth, and spoke to everyone with the same respectful attentiveness. Whenever you managed to stand near him long enough for a conversation, he would ask about the charity, the donations, the volunteers, or whatever church event happened to be coming up next.
The discussion always remained firmly within the boundaries of church matters, and before you knew it, he would excuse himself to continue helping elsewhere.
You couldn't even ask him anything personal. Every question that came to mind sounded ridiculous the moment you imagined saying it out loud. Are those tattoos real? How old are you? Why are you so handsome for a priest?
None of them exactly sounded appropriate for church conversation.
So you remained stuck in this strange little cycle of yours, coming to church almost everyday with hopes far bigger than the interactions you actually received. And despite how ridiculous it felt, despite how much you scolded yourself for it, the highlight of your day was still that brief smile and the weight of his hand resting atop your head for a few seconds.
Shameful.
A shame that you had never actually talked to him.
Not beyond a few good afternoons exchanged in passing and the occasional greeting whenever your paths crossed around the church.
You didn't want to be too bold, afraid that he would notice your embarrassingly obvious attempts to get his attention. As someone who wasn't particularly religious, you found yourself in an absurd predicament.
Should you start reading the bible? Memorize a few scriptures? Learn enough about church teachings to hold an intelligent conversation with him?
The fact that you were even considering studying scripture just to impress a priest made you question every life decision that had led you to this point.
You wanted his eyes to linger on you. Wanted him to look at you a little longer than everyone else. Wanted to feel special in some way. But every time your gaze met his, he would simply smile and move on, his attention never staying in one place for too long.
Sometimes you wondered if the only thing capable of holding his complete devotion was God himself.
Which was unfortunate for you. Because you were used to being noticed.
You were pretty, and you knew it. Attention had always come easily to you, yet the one man whose attention you wanted most remained completely out of reach.
A man who was distant, unattainable, and forbidden in every possible sense of the word.
Standing in front of your mirror that afternoon, you smoothed down your floral dress and examined your reflection one last time. The modest dress fell neatly against your figure, paired with white kitten heels that made you look far more innocent than you actually were. You dabbed a little extra blush onto your cheeks before adding a touch more glitter to your eyelids, your excitement growing as you remembered what Sana had told you earlier that week.
Fr. Jeon would be presiding over today's mass.
It would be the first mass of his that you would be attending, and as you stared at yourself in the mirror, unable to stop smiling, you realized your excitement felt dangerously close to the kind of anticipation one would have before a date.
Sana had noticed that you were coming with her far more often nowadays, but being as naive and obedient as she was, she only took it as a good sign. In her eyes, your heart was simply getting closer to God, closer to faith, closer to something pure and meaningful.
Closer to Fr. Jeon, rather.
“You look excited,” she said with a soft smile, her eyes twinkling when you mentioned wanting to sit in the front row. The thought only made her happier, convinced that your devotion was finally deepening in the way she had always hoped for you.
Oh, you were devoted.
“Excited for the Mass, you know,” you replied with a small giggle, clasping your hands together as if to sell the image. “Wonder what bible chapter will be discussed today.”
Of course you were gonna listen, be a good little church girl and have your eyes and attention to him.
Your eyes were practically shining when you stepped into the church, making a beeline for the front row without hesitation. You sat down shamelessly, smoothing your skirt as if you had done this every sunday of your life.
Sana only smiled at your eagerness, completely oblivious to the fact that your decision had nothing to do with spiritual focus and everything to do with proximity. Sitting at the front felt less like devotion and more like VIP seating for the sole purpose of seeing Fr. Jeon up close.
When the bell finally rang, the entire church rose to its feet. Your heart kicked up immediately as the sacristans entered in procession, one of them carrying a smoking thurible that swung gently with each step. And right at the center of it all was him.
Your future boyfriend.
Your lips parted slightly, eyes widening as Fr. Jeon walked slowly down the nave with calm, deliberate steps. His hands were clasped together in front of him in prayer, and he wore the full liturgical vestments—a long white linen robe beneath a green chasuble, a thin stole draped over his shoulders, and a cincture tied neatly at his waist. The fabric moved softly as he walked, making him look almost unreal under the church lights, like something out of a painting you weren’t supposed to stare at for too long.
He greeted people with gentle smiles along the way, bowing his head politely, even pausing to pat a few children on the head as he passed the pews.
By the time he reached the altar, your attention was fully locked in.
Disingenuous.
You nodded a little too eagerly when responses were required, your voice coming out brighter than necessary during the choir parts, as if enthusiasm alone could prove your devotion. Every time he spoke, your focus sharpened, hanging onto his words a little too intently, even when you were supposed to be blending in with the rest of the congregation.
He was wearing his usual pair of glasses, slowly turning the pages of the bible with precise, practiced movements. His voice was steady and clear as he read, each word delivered with a calm authority that made it clear this role suited him completely. There was nothing rushed about him, nothing uncertain.. only a quiet certainty in the way he stood at the altar, as if it had always belonged to him.
By now, you had started mirroring him without even realizing it. Whenever he closed his eyes to say the prayers, you would close yours too, hands folded a little tighter than necessary, breathing in sync with the rhythm of the mass.
You were fucking crazy.
When it was time for the holy communion, you stood up almost too quickly, your heart thudding loudly in your chest as you joined the line forming in the aisle. Each step forward felt heavier than it should have, not because of the sacrament itself, but because of who was waiting near the altar.
“Are you alright?” Sana commented quietly when she noticed your flushed expression after the bell rang.
You let out a small, awkward laugh and instinctively smoothed down your long hair, trying to compose yourself. “Just thinking about my prayers,” you said lightly, as if that explanation made any sense at all.
She gasped, like you were really serious about your prayers, when all you could think about was—
He’s gonna feed me the host!
You were almost sweating as you tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, feeling the moment inch closer with every step in the line. Sana’s voice was still beside you, something about God always listening and having faith in his timing, but her words barely registered anymore. Your mind was elsewhere entirely, stuck on the growing realization that you were seconds away from facing him directly.
Preparing your hands in a prayer position, your brain almost short-circuited when you finally faced him, his right tatted hand holding the host up for you.
“The Body of Christ,” he said in a soft tone, almost detached in its reverence.
You wanted him to recognize you—the obedient good girl who always volunteered at the church. But fuck, he was too absorbed in God and the communion.
Your lips parted. “Amen…”
When he finally fed you the host, you almost choked when you felt the slight, accidental brush of his index finger against your lips as he withdrew his hand. You were left completely flustered, while he remained composed and focused on the ritual, seemingly unaware of the effect he had on you.
To you, it felt intimate.
To him, it was simply the Eucharist…a sacred duty, a practiced motion repeated countless times.
When you returned to your seat and lowered yourself to kneel again, you pressed your hands together a little too tightly. In your head, you immediately apologized to God for every impure thought, questionable intention, and shameless moment you had done.
Then, without even a full second of self-reflection, you proceeded to ask if he could somehow let you be a little closer to Fr. Jeon.
Your priorities were clearly a work in progress.
“Sana, are you gonna visit the church this week?” you asked with a small smile, falling into your usual habit of checking with her.
For the past few weeks, your afternoons and weekends had quietly reshaped themselves around her schedule.
It had become something strangely comforting… helping wherever you could, spending hours in a place that once felt unfamiliar but was now slowly turning into routine.
But of course, you couldn’t deny that recently, there was another reason woven into it too.
“Nope,” Sana replied as she hugged her books closer to her chest. “I have to study this week. Finals are coming up, and I still have a chemistry exam to review for before vacation starts.”
You groaned softly and walked beside her as the two of you left the campus. “Then why don’t we just stop by for a bit? To pray for good grades?” you suggested, lifting a brow as if it was the most logical solution in the world.
Please. Please. Please agree with me.
Sana pouted, clearly considering it for a moment, and your heart almost stopped in anticipation. Then she shook her head slowly, and your excitement deflated instantly.
“You’re right,” she said gently, “but it’s a long test, Y/N. I need to review all week. God would understand.”
She smiled softly and slipped her arm through yours. “Let’s just pray at home and do the rosary before reviewing.”
You forced a small smile, though your shoulders sagged slightly at the realization. It wasn’t just a missed church visit—it was a missed chance, even if you kept telling yourself it wasn’t supposed to be about that.
Sure, you would probably still see Fr. Jeon at sunday mass. He was the new presider in the city now, after all.
But it still wasn’t the same.
You almost groaned when you found yourself at the church that saturday morning. You were wearing a cream-colored dress, kitten heels, and a rosary necklace you had recently bought for the sole purpose of impressing Fr. Jeon. You had no idea whether he would even notice it, but in your mind, it felt like the kind of thing a good church girl would wear.
Preposterous.
Sashaying your way inside, you took in the usual parishioners and volunteers already busy arranging boxes for the charity drive.
You bit your lip. This was your first time visiting the church without Sana. Still, as you walked in, you were relieved when a few volunteers recognized you.
Thank God and all the saints.
You smiled and bent down to help with the boxes, already familiar with the routine—carrying them to the truck, sorting old clothes and toys, or helping with the lists.
If any of your uni friends saw you here alone, they would be completely confused. Without Sana, your sudden appearance at church would make absolutely no sense.
“Good day, Fr. Jeon.” someone greeted, and your ears immediately perked up. You turned just in time to see him entering the church halls in his usual black long sleeves and slacks.
You were only on your third box today! He was early!
Your lips curled into a small, excited smile as you instinctively stepped closer, box still in hand, already anticipating the familiar greeting and gentle pat on the head.
“Good day,” he said as expected, offering a polite nod before his hand lifted to pat your head.
Your eyelashes fluttered.
But instead of letting him move on to greet the others…for the first time in the past few weeks, you actually gathered the courage to stop him.
“Uh, Fr. Jeon?” you called softly just as he was about to turn away.
He paused, tilting his head slightly. “Yes, sweetheart?”
Jesus– God in heaven.
Your cheeks instantly reddened at the nickname, fingers tightening around the box. Still, you forced yourself to breathe, and finally blurted out the question you had been rehearsing all night.
“Just wondering if you have any c-chapter recommendations? I’m currently reading the bible and I don’t know where to start,” you said shyly.
There was a brief flicker of pleasant surprise on his face, quietly impressed that you were asking about the bible in the first place. It wasn't often that someone approached him with genuine curiosity about scripture.
He was about to answer when, suddenly…his attention shifted.
His gaze drifted downward, landing on the rosary hanging around your neck—the small cross resting between your breasts.
His lips pursed. “Sweetheart…rosaries are not meant to be worn as necklaces,” he chuckled softly, his eyes lingering on the rosary before looking back at you.
Your eyes widened. “I-It’s not…?” you asked, your ears and neck already heating in embarrassment.
Fuck. You didn’t know that!
Fr. Jeon exhaled gently. “It’s a prayer tool,” he explained, his tone patient and calm. “Meant to be held in the hands… used in prayer, not displayed like jewelry.”
You blinked. “I-I didn’t know,” you admitted quickly, almost defensively. “I just really… like rosaries.”
Deception.
Fr. Jeon sighed softly, then lifted a hand to gently pat your head. “It’s okay…if you want, you can still wear rosary bracelets.” he offered you a small, reassuring smile.
You almost melted at his kindness. “R-Right, that would be better,” you said shyly, barely keeping yourself together.
He chuckled softly at your reaction, adjusting his glasses before finally returning to your original question. “If you’re reading the bible,” he added at last, “start with the gospels. Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John.”
You nodded quickly, smiling up at him as he returned a warm, genuine smile of his own.
“Noted, Fr. Jeon.” you smiled, unconsciously stepping a little closer. “...Uhm, d-do you have a bible in your office, Father?” you asked shyly, doing your best to sound innocent and academically curious.
The moment the question left your mouth, you almost mentally slapped yourself.
Of course he has a bible in his office!
You opened your mouth, ready to rephrase the question, to save yourself from the embarrassment of sounding so foolish—but Fr. Jeon answered before you could.
“I do have a few bible collections in my office…would you like to see them?” Fr. Jeon offered, gesturing gently toward the church office.
You dropped the boxes. “Oh, my-”
Your plan actually worked!
Your eyes widened in horror. Mortified, you immediately bent down to pick them up, only to find Fr. Jeon already reaching for them.
“Careful, sweetheart,” he chuckled softly, lifting the boxes with ease as if they weighed nothing. “Let me carry these.”
“S-Sorry, it was kinda heavy,” you reasoned out, your neck already turning red. You still couldn’t believe you were actually having a full conversation with him.
And now he was even taking you to his office!
The Lord had truly answered your prayers.
With a polite smile, Fr. Jeon handed the boxes to the truck before gesturing for you to follow him toward the office.
“I can let you borrow a few scriptures if you’d like. I have the new version of the bible—would you want that?” Fr. Jeon asked as he reached into his pocket for his office keys.
You nodded immediately, hands clasping together behind your back. “Uh, yeah. That would be heavenly!”
Heavenly? For Christ’s sake, Y/N.
Fr. Jeon only smiled at that, unlocking and opening the office door as if he were letting you step into a space you had no right to be so excited about.
Pious.
You had done your research last night—it had been difficult since he was such a private person, but you had managed to learn a few things.
Fr. Jeon had been ordained only six months ago and was now officially assigned as the priest of your city’s parish, something you were embarrassingly looking forward to.
He was twenty-eight. He had studied arts before eventually pursuing theology. There were only a handful of photos of him online…mostly seminarian group pictures, a few formal ones where he wasn’t wearing his usual cassock, though he was always in long sleeves.
You had even found one rare image where he had rolled his sleeve slightly during a group photo, revealing part of a tattoo on his arm beneath a white long-sleeve shirt and a cross necklace.
“Fuck… he’s hiding all that under his sleeves?” you had muttered to yourself last night, squinting at the screen and trying to find more…only to realize there was barely anything else. No social media, no casual photos, nothing.
“Take a seat here. I’ll get the books for you,” Fr. Jeon said now, smiling as he gestured toward the small couch in front of his desk.
You nodded and sat down obediently, trying very hard to look like a good parish girl.
His office was quiet and orderly in a way that immediately made you straighten your posture. The walls were lined with wooden bookshelves filled with thick religious texts, bible editions, theological commentaries, and neatly stacked parish documents. A simple desk sat against one side, organized and uncluttered, with a few folders, a pen holder, and a small lamp.
In the center of the room, mounted on the wall above the desk, hung a large crucifix—christ on the cross—watching over everything in silent stillness. The soft light from the window fell across it gently, making the entire room feel even more solemn, almost sacred.
Yet your thoughts were nowhere near sacred. You were here to attempt a very dangerous, carnal sin.
Seduction.
Masked in your perfect good-girl appearance, wondering if you could crack that unshakable composure he wore so effortlessly—if you could make his calm, holy restraint finally slip.
You slowly stood up from the couch while his back remained turned, focused on his bible scriptures. Your head tilted slightly as you tried to make it look as innocent as possible…to enter his space without revealing your true, sinful intentions.
“Fr. Jeon,” you called softly, standing too close behind him.
You needed to converse, to interact with him, to get him interested—to show him how much you adored God as much as he did.
“Hmm?” He didn’t glance at you, still focused on the scriptures.
You pouted, slowly taking a peek at what he was doing. “I was wondering if I could just read the bible here instead of borrowing it….” you attempted softly. “That way, if there’s something I don’t understand… I can ask you about it right away.” you said in a sweet, suggestive tone.
Fr. Jeon glanced at you, subtly stepping back when he realized you were right behind him, your vanilla scent brushing his senses.
He paused for a moment, looking into your hopeful eyes.
“Hmm,” he hummed thoughtfully, a small smile appearing on his face. “That's actually a good idea. Understanding scripture is easier when you can discuss it with someone. If I'm here, feel free to ask me anything you're confused about.”
Providence.
You smiled brightly, feeling your relationship with him finally take another step forward.
“That would be great! Thank you, Fr. Jeon,” you said, tilting your head and giving him one of your most charming smiles.
It was absurd.
After your finals, you were granted a two-month semestral break, and instead of using that time to party, travel with friends, or go on night outs, you had spent nearly all of it at the church.
Sana, unfortunately, never questioned your growing interest. She was too kind to question your faith.
Over the next few weeks, your afternoons were spent in the parish office, reading scripture, flipping through commentaries, and waiting for the familiar sound of the office door opening.
During those weeks, you managed to have a few small talks with him whenever he stopped by. You learned that he visited the church every day…sometimes to pray, sometimes to help with ongoing charity work, hear confessions, or simply check on the church office before moving on to his next responsibility.
Hearing about his schedule made you quietly adjust your own, ensuring you arrived at the office around 3 p.m.—the time he usually came in to check mails and paperwork at his office.
Today, you were wearing a baby blue dress that flowed nicely around your ankles, trimmed with delicate lace at the hem. Your hair was tied in a half ponytail with a blue ribbon, your makeup subtle, and your kitten heels matching the softness of your outfit.
Sana didn’t come with you every day anymore—she had other “holy” activities outside the church, like charity visits, helping at retreat houses, touring other churches, and even climbing mountains to visit shrines and statues.
You had politely declined most of those invitations, telling her you found comfort in staying within your church’s city.
Disingenuous.
The rhythm between you had become almost routine. You would come to the office in the afternoons, sit down with a bible, and quietly read while asking him occasional questions whenever something didn’t make sense.
Fr. Jeon would remain at his desk, either going through papers or reading his own scripture in silence. The room would stay mostly quiet, filled with the soft turning of pages and the steady presence of his focus, as if the world outside didn’t quite reach either of you in that space.
Sometimes you would try to steer the conversation a little further, testing small openings beyond scripture, but it always naturally circled back to the same things—bible passages, God, charity work, church matters… anything within that same unspoken boundary of the holy.
Yet, that alone felt like a privilege—being allowed into the quiet rhythm of his office, as if you belonged there too.
“Good day, Fr. Jeon. I brought some snacks for you,” you said with a smile as you entered the church’s office.
As usual, he was sitting at his desk, wearing his framed glasses while reading some papers.
You walked toward him and held up a small box of cookies you had gladly baked. “I made these…kind of like a thank-you gift for letting me stay here in the office,” you said proudly.
During your free time, you had spent the entire afternoon baking cookies for Fr. Jeon, thinking it would be a nice thank-you gift for him. At first, you had even wanted to decorate them with cute frosting faces of Jesus, convinced it would make you look extra devoted in his eyes.
Unfortunately, after staring at your frosting bag for ten minutes, you realized it might look a little too....performative.
So, with great reluctance, you abandoned your tiny Jesus-face cookie idea and settled for regular chocolate chip cookies instead.
The result sat neatly inside the box you now held out to him, carefully packed and decorated with far more effort than necessary.
Fr. Jeon looked at the cookies, his head tilting slightly when he noticed the box was covered in heart stickers. A soft smile formed on his lips, quietly touched by your kindness.
“That’s very kind of you, sweetheart.” he said softly, taking the box before looking up at you from his swivel chair. “Thank you, Y/N.”
Your cheeks flushed, making you feel like a schoolgirl finally noticed by your crush.
“No worries, Fr. Jeon… besides, I really like reading the bible here! it feels comforting,” you said, leaning in slightly as if to emphasize your point. “And thank you… you really help me understand it better when I get confused,” you added softly, fluttering your lashes at him.
He blinked slowly, clearly caught off guard by your sweet smile and the way you leaned in, his usual composure faltering for a brief moment as he paused.
“No...no problem sweetheart.” he said with a small smile. “I’m… glad you find comfort here. God will always find a way to comfort our souls.”
You smiled sheepishly and sat down on the small couch in front of his desk. “Hmm, I know…I always pray whenever I’m overwhelmed, somehow talking to God really helps me.” you said thoughtfully, even if you had only learned those kinds of phrases from Sana.
Fr. Jeon nodded quietly, he didn’t expect you to be this devoted.
You were very pure, kind, and charming. He had always noticed you volunteering at the church with your friend Sana—you would help with the boxes, sit around during her choir sessions, sometimes simply sit in the pew as if the presence of the church alone was enough for you.
It wasn’t hard to notice you. You were pretty and graceful, always smiling at everyone, carrying a soft, composed presence whenever he saw you at the church in your long skirts and modest blouses—like a quiet image of devotion itself.
Despite that, his eyes never lingered.
Always composed, always measured…because anything longer than a passing glance felt like something he shouldn’t allow himself.
Ever since you asked him about the bible that day, he had been quietly amazed. Nowadays, very few people showed genuine interest in scripture, let alone someone your age.
Seeing your devotion—or what he believed was devotion…filled him with a warmth he hadn't expected. It was rare to meet someone so eager to learn more about God.
What he didn't realize was that your sweet, holy little plan had been working all along.
And what you didn't realize was that your sweetness, your smiles, your carefully built innocence—had been working from the very beginning.
You were so focused on the fact that his eyes never lingered, so convinced that he remained untouched by your presence, that you failed to see the subtle effect you had already left behind.
“What do you do during your free time, Fr. Jeon?” you asked casually one friday afternoon, trying your best to sound merely curious rather than interested.
You had spent weeks keeping your questions safely within the boundaries of scripture. Careful not to reveal how badly you wanted to know the man behind the collar.
So you kept your tone light and innocent, as though it were nothing more than a harmless question that had happened to cross your mind.
Fr. Jeon's head tilted slightly. He was sitting across from you at the small coffee table inside his office, a bible resting in his hands just like yours.
“I visit charities,” he answered lightly. “I usually stay there for a while and spend time with the children.” a fond smile crossed his face at the memory.
Your lips parted. Oh! still religious.
“How about you, sweetheart?” Fr. Jeon asked.
You quickly searched for a suitably holy answer. “Umm, I-I sometimes climb mountains to visit shrines and blessed statues,” you said, biting your lip as you recalled one of Sana's favorite religious activities.
Fr. Jeon nodded thoughtfully, visibly impressed…his expression softening as if genuinely moved that you spent your free time in service of the Lord.
“What a good girl you are,” he said softly.
His eyes lifted to meet yours for a brief moment—just long enough to make your heart stumble…before he looked away first, a small smile forming on his lips that he quickly hid as he lowered his gaze back to the bible.
Your lips parted slightly, warmth rushing to your cheeks at the compliment.
Good girl. Oh to be called his good girl.
Even though Sana had been busy lately with her other holy activities, you didn't mind attending mass alone. In fact, you were more than happy sitting in the front row.
Your eyes would sparkle whenever Fr. Jeon spoke, your heart thumping whenever his gaze swept across the congregation and briefly met yours.
It always felt like a small victory, as though he was finally acknowledging you, finally noticing you.
“The Body of Christ.” Fr. Jeon held up the host.
“Amen,” you replied softly.
Unlike before, however, his gaze briefly lowered to meet yours. It lasted only a moment, accompanied by a small smile, but it was enough to make your heart skip a beat.
Enthralled.
Little by little, the distance between you seemed to shrink. The walls around him no longer felt quite as impenetrable as they once had.
Overtime, you had finally managed to crack through the edges of his usual reserve. What started as strictly scripture and charity talk had slowly, almost imperceptibly, begun to shift into something more personal.
You learned how he first became interested in the priesthood, how his mother had served in the church, and how deeply devoted his family was to their faith. You even found the courage to ask about his tattoos, discovering they came from his love for art long before he pursued theology.
In return, you had shared little pieces of yourself as well—your hobbies, your favorite things, your likes and dislikes. Of course, you were careful to sprinkle in a little extra holiness whenever you could, always eager to impress him and maintain the image he seemed to have of you.
Fr. Jeon enjoyed your presence. It was refreshing to converse with someone who seemed to share the same interest and devotion that he held so dearly.
As the weeks passed, he found himself quietly looking forward to your visits, anticipating the familiar sound of your voice drifting into his office each afternoon. After all, you had always been naturally playful and talkative, and somehow… your constant babbling had become a welcome part of his routine.
It had been a month since you started spending your afternoons in his office. Upon entering, you found him sitting at the coffee table instead of his desk. Scattered across the table were several small boxes in different colors.
Curious, you stepped inside, your usual box of homemade cookies in hand—the same kind you brought him every week.
“What’s that, Fr. Jeon?” you asked, taking a seat across from him and placing the cookies on the table.
Fr. Jeon looked up and smiled. “When's your birthday, sweetheart?”
You blinked, a question that was out of the blue—like you were on a date, and he was casually getting to know you.
Your cheeks immediately flushed, you told him your birth date, unable to hide the slight confusion in your voice.
Fr. Jeon nodded thoughtfully before reaching for one of the small boxes on the table.
There were twelve of them in total, each a different color. Pink, purple, green, blue, yellow, and several others.
“This would be your birthstone color then,” he said with a fond smile, handing you the box that matched your birth month.
Confused, you picked up the box and slowly opened it.
A small rosary bracelet rested inside.
Your heart began thumping so loudly you could hear it in your ears as you remembered the conversation from weeks ago…when he had gently corrected you and told you that rosaries weren't meant to be worn as necklaces.
“T-This is for me?” you asked, eyes wide and sparkling.
Fr. Jeon smiled softly. “Yes, sweetheart. I didn't know your birthday, so I bought all twelve colors,” he admitted with a small chuckle, glancing at the remaining boxes on the table.
It was such a simple gift, yet your heart fluttered stupidly in your chest. Somehow, this meant more than the flowers, chocolates, teddy bears, and expensive jewelry your admirers had given you before.
Before you could stop yourself, you rose from your seat and threw your arms around him.
Fr. Jeon froze in surprise, his eyes widened as you suddenly closed the distance between you. The force of the hug nearly made him lose his balance in the chair as your arms wrapped tightly around his shoulders.
“Thank you, Fr. Jeon...so sweet of you.” you murmured, overwhelmed with happiness.
He gulped harshly. It had been a long time since he had been touched by a woman.
Not accidentally in a crowded place. Not a polite handshake after mass. Not a brief greeting exchanged out of courtesy.
A long time.
His heart raced against his ribs as your arms wrapped tightly around his neck. Your hot breath fanned softly against his collar, carrying the familiar scent of vanilla that had become impossible for him not to recognize. The closeness was overwhelming in a way he hadn't expected, making him painfully aware of how little physical affection existed in his life.
His hands hovered awkwardly in the air for a moment before gripping the edge of the table instead. Every instinct told him to return the gesture, to place a comforting hand against your back and reassure you, but he remained still, forcing himself to hold onto his composure.
“You're welcome, sweetheart.” Fr. Jeon rasped, his voice coming out rougher than usual.
When you finally pulled away, you smiled brightly and sat back down in your chair, immediately slipping the bracelet onto your wrist.
Meanwhile, he remained frozen for a moment, trying to swallow away the lingering awareness of your closeness. The warmth of your embrace, your breath against his collar, the brief press of your breasts against him.
The hug had been innocent, sweet and harmless.
Which only made it worse.
Because he had no reason to be affected by it at all. He found himself quietly unsettled by the fact that he had needed to restrain himself in a moment that should have been nothing more than simple gratitude.
Temptation.
The next day, you proudly wore the rosary bracelet he had given you. You had even chosen a dress that matched its color, complete with a ribbon in your hair to tie everything together.
When you entered his office, you found Fr. Jeon standing by the bookshelves, a scripture in one hand. His glasses rested low on his nose as he read through a passage.
Immediately, you raised your wrist and showed off the bracelet. “Look,” you said with a grin.
Fr. Jeon glanced down, you were already twirling in place, eager to show him how the bracelet matched your dress.
Pretty.
The thought came so naturally that he frowned at himself.
“Good day, Y/N.” he replied, forcing his attention away from the observation.
You smiled brightly and wriggled your wrist. “I matched the bracelet with my dress and ribbon, see?”
Turning in a small circle again, you proudly showed off the entire outfit.
Fr. Jeon watched for a brief moment before lowering his gaze. Lately, he had become far too aware of things he shouldn't be noticing.
How pretty you looked whenever you walked into his office, how your face lit up whenever you talked to him, how easily your excitement filled the room.
Even your long dresses—soft fabric falling gently to your ankles, lace details tracing along the edges…began to feel distracting in a way he could not fully explain or justify.
Turning innocent things into distractions. The modesty that should have protected his thoughts was beginning to have the opposite effect, making him painfully aware of the woman hidden beneath layers of fabric and lace.
Perhaps it was because it had been so long since he had allowed himself to be this close to a woman. Years spent in seminaries, rectories, church offices, and ministry had made him accustomed to a life of distance and discipline. He had grown comfortable in it.
Until you.
“Glad you like it, sweetheart,” he said at last, forcing a small smile before returning his attention to the scripture in his hands.
It was easier to focus on the page than on the way you were still standing there, smiling at him as if he had just given you the greatest gift in the world.
You giggled and stepped a little closer. “You know, I didn’t remove the bracelet yet… I’m planning on wearing it forever.”
Fr. Jeon raised a brow at that, glancing at you from the corner of his eye.
“Really?” he asked, unable to hide the delightfulness in his voice.
“Yes! I didn’t even remove it when I took a bath,” you giggled, smiling at him with pure adoration.
His brows furrowed slightly at what you had just said, but before he could stop himself, a faint flush crept across his cheeks.
Test of faith.
His mind betrayed him for a brief second, wandering toward the image of you showering while still wearing the bracelet he had given you, carefully keeping it on even then. The thought was so sudden and inappropriate that he immediately felt ashamed.
He gulped harshly, disappointed in himself. He would have to repent later and ask the Lord for forgiveness for allowing such a crude thought to cross his mind.
Fr. Jeon could not entertain that desire. It was forbidden, a temptation that needed to be buried and forgotten before it could take root.
Yet despite the turmoil quietly unfolding inside him, he weakly reached over and gently patted your head.
His heart immediately thumped against his ribs when your eyes lifted to meet his, shining with unmistakable adoration at the simple gesture.
You beamed at him...letting out a small, delighted giggle that softened the moment even further.
Craving.
The past few weeks had been exhausting. As the city's new presider, he had been buried beneath paperwork and responsibilities. The church had also been flooded with parishioners seeking confession, and the lines seemed to grow longer with each passing day.
Hundreds of voices had passed through the confessional since then, each carrying their own sins, burdens, and regrets. Most of them faded from memory the moment absolution was given.
Yours hadn't.
Fr. Jeon leaned back in his chair and stared at the crucifix hanging on the office wall. The afternoon sunlight filtered through the window, casting long shadows across the room.
He had spent years strengthening his faith, disciplining his mind, and dedicating himself entirely to the Lord. Yet lately, all it took was a sweet smile, an innocent touch, or the sound of your voice to shake that discipline.
Closing his eyes, he lowered his head.
"Lord, forgive me," he murmured quietly.
A threat to his devotion.
-
“Ouch, fuck,” you groaned, pulling the tray of cookies out of the oven.
You were baking a fresh batch for Fr. Jeon today, trying out a larger baking tray than usual so you could make more cookies at once. Unfortunately, the experiment immediately backfired.
As you bent down to take the tray out, the hot metal edge accidentally brushed against your inner thigh. You winced, pouting as you watched your skin slowly turn red.
“This looks so bad,” you murmured, setting the tray of cookies down on the counter.
Luckily, you had been wearing long skirts these days.
Prepping the boxes of cookies you had baked, you decided to wear a purple long lacey skirt paired with a cute ruffled top. Your hair was styled into low pigtail braids, each tied with a ribbon at the ends. Holding the box carefully, you frowned slightly when you felt the bandage rubbing against your swollen skin.
“Good day, Fr. Jeon, I got you cookies!” you beamed.
You noticed he had become even busier after being appointed as the city’s official presider, though you didn’t realize he had been deliberately drowning himself in paperwork—anything to keep his thoughts from drifting where they shouldn’t.
“Good day, Y/N,” he replied, glancing up for only a brief moment to return your smile before his attention went back to the documents in front of him.
You frowned slightly and placed the box of cookies on the table in front of him. “Got you a different flavor! It’s red velvet this time,” you said, pointing at the box with a small, proud smile.
Fr. Jeon glanced at them, warmth flickering in his chest before he quickly pushed it down.
“Thank you, Y/N… that’s very kind of you,” he said gently, his tone careful, as though he was trying to place distance even while accepting your kindness.
You pouted almost immediately. The response felt far too brief for someone who had spent the morning baking for him.
Wanting his attention back on you, you shifted your weight and played with the ends of your braid, searching for something that would pull his focus away from the paperwork on his desk.
“You know… I even got burned earlier because I used a bigger tray and it hit me,” you said with a small chuckle, watching him carefully for a reaction. “But it’s fine, I’m just worried it might leave a mark,” you added with a light giggle, unable to hide the hopeful note in your voice as you waited for him to look at you again.
That got his attention immediately.
His brows furrowed as he looked up from the papers, concern breaking through the careful distance he had been trying to maintain. His eyes instinctively moved to your hands, searching for any sign of injury.
“Where is it? Let me see,” Fr. Jeon said, the concern in his voice unmistakable. His gaze lingered on your fingers and wrists, unable to find the burn he was looking for.
You had to fight the smile threatening to appear.
Slowly, you made your way around the table until you were standing beside him. From his swivel chair, he tilted his head back to follow your movement, his attention still fixed on your hands.
“It’s not there, Fr. Jeon…” you said softly. “Here...”
A small giggle escaped you as you gently lifted the hem of your long skirt.
His eyes widened instantly, panic flashing across his face before he could hide it. Before you could lift your skirt any higher, his hand shot forward on instinct, wrapping around your wrist to stop you.
“W-What are you doing?” he asked, nearly choking on the words.
The reaction was immediate, almost alarmed, as though the sight of you standing there with your hands on your skirt had caught him completely off guard. His grip wasn't harsh, but it was firm enough to halt your movement, his composure visibly rattled.
“I burned my thighs, Fr. Jeon… see?” you said innocently, lifting the fabric just enough to reveal the bandage wrapped beneath.
His lips parted at the sight, momentarily stunned.
The bandage sat against your soft thighs, the realization of how close he was to something so private making his mind go blank for a second.
He had never seen so much of you like this before—not this close, not this exposed in such an unguarded, unexpected way.
Your thighs looked so soft, pink and smooth… faintly marked by the redness around the bandage, drawing attention to how tightly you had wrapped it.
“It hurts a little,” you pouted, pointing at it.
His throat tightened as he swallowed hard, his gaze immediately faltering. Behind his glasses…his pupils were dilated, his ears and neck flushing red. His hands gripped the sides of his swivel chair tightly, as though grounding himself in place.
“Y-You wrapped it wrong,” he managed to say at last, his voice strained. He cleared his throat and forced his attention elsewhere, brows furrowing as he tried to recover his composure.
You tilted your head. “I did?” you looked down, trying to check your bandage when he suddenly stood up.
“I-I have a first aid kit in my cabinet. Sit in my swivel chair...I-I’ll wrap it for you,” he said quickly, already turning away from you as if creating distance would steady him. Without waiting for another reaction, he walked toward the cabinet near the bookshelves.
You bit your lip. “Okay…”
You obediently sat down in his swivel chair, a small, satisfied feeling flickering in your chest when you noticed how concerned…and slightly flustered—he seemed.
When he returned, he was holding a small first aid kit. Your breath caught slightly when he suddenly knelt in front of you.
“L-Lift your skirt, please.” he said, his tone firm but strained, his brows drawn together as he deliberately avoided looking too directly while waiting for you to comply.
Your heart stammered, green thoughts flowing inside your filthy brain.
With shaky, anticipatory hands, you lifted your skirt up to your inner thighs, purposefully raising it a little higher than necessary.
When he looked at your exposed thighs, his breath hitched. He tried to remain as calm as possible, forcing himself to focus. Slowly, he reached for the bandage, almost flinching when he felt the softness of your skin beneath the rough pad of his fingers.
“It’s too tight,” he said breathily, his hands trembling as he unwrapped the bandage from your thigh.
“Is it?” you said softly, watching the way his lips were slightly parted, his expression focused and controlled.
When the burn was finally exposed, his brows furrowed. “You should be more careful, Y/N.” he said quietly.
He took a small tube of ointment from the kit, applying a bit to his index finger before carefully spreading it over the burn.
You winced slightly at the contact, while his attention remained fixed and steady as he worked.
“Does it hurt?” he asked, his voice lower than usual as he briefly checked your reaction before focusing back on the injury.
You bit your lip. “J-Just a little bit.”
He sighed harshly at that, gently rubbing the ointment in with steady movements, though you could see beads of sweat slowly forming on his forehead.
“Just a little more,” he murmured almost under his breath, applying another layer of ointment. His control was thinner now, each movement more deliberate than the last, as if he was carefully holding himself together.
When he took the new bandage, he wrapped it carefully around your burn with precise, practiced hands. Once he was done, he immediately adjusted your skirt, smoothing it down with controlled efficiency…perhaps a little too quickly, as though creating distance from the moment itself.
When he stood up, you could see it more clearly now: the restraint in his posture, the tension in his jaw, the way his composure wasn’t as effortless as before. He looked like he was actively holding himself back from something, grounding himself before it showed too much.
“Thank you,” you said warmly, smiling up at him.
He looked down at you, tilting his head slightly at how innocent you appeared with your ribbons and braids.
Forbidden.
That night, Fr. Jeon fell into the forbidden temptation he had been trying so hard to resist.
It was ten o’clock, yet he remained inside the church office, refusing to leave the premises until his mind and soul were free of guilt.
Frustrated, he buried himself in scripture, but his thoughts kept drifting back to your soft, beautiful thighs and the rosary bracelet on your wrist that had stirred such sinful thoughts within him.
“Forgive me,” he muttered under his breath, his tattooed hand sliding down his slacks to palm his hardening cock.
His lips parted. It had been a very long time since he had touched himself...he had almost forgotten how good it felt. With a shaky breath, he slowly stroked his growing erection, murmuring apologies and curses beneath his breath.
He nearly rolled his eyes back at the sensation. It felt far too good. His cock hardened with alarming ease at the mere thought of you.
Lust.
With trembling hands, he slowly pulled his cock free from his slacks. It was thick and pulsing, a bead of precum already forming at the swollen tip.
When his tattooed hand squeezed the base, more fluid gathered at the head, coating his throbbing shaft.
“Jesus Christ,” he whispered under his breath, a groan escaping him as he rediscovered how good it felt to touch himself after so long.
It was sinful. Dirty.
He was still inside the church office, dressed in his usual black clerical shirt with its roman collar. Scripture lay open on his desk, and his glasses had begun to fog from the heat of his breath.
It had been years. He could no longer remember the last time he had touched a woman, nor the last time he had thought of one this way. When he devoted himself to the Lord, he had promised never to indulge in such acts again.
The longer he had restrained himself, the better it felt to finally release that tension after so many years. His cock almost ached. Thick and veiny, it twitched whenever he rolled the foreskin down.
“God, help me.” Fr. Jeon moaned shamelessly, jerking himself in slow, deliberate strokes, determined to savor every second of it.
He gathered spit in his mouth and let it trickle down his aching shaft. The added lubrication drew a groan from him. He bit down hard on his lip as the realization struck him once more—how good this felt, how much he had missed touching himself.
His thoughts drifted to you.
He imagined your sweet confession about still wearing the rosary bracelet he had given you... even while bathing. The thought lingered longer than it should have, unfurling in his mind as he pictured your small, delicate hands gliding a bar of soap across your soft skin. The rosary would brush against your chest with every movement, the beads shifting and sliding as you washed your nipples.
And then his thoughts wandered further, painting one image after another—your inner thighs, the way the beads might accidentally graze your soft skin as you shower. Each vision arrived unbidden, more vivid than the last, and far more difficult to suppress.
A sacred desire.
He was leaking more and more with every thought of you. The only sound echoing through the office was the wet rhythm of his hand jerking along his hard leaking cock.
Curious, he gathered a bead of precum between his thumb and index finger and brought it to his lips. The taste was salty, thick, and strangely addicting.
“Oh, God,” he groaned, collecting more of it only to taste himself again.
Your forbidden thighs.
The softness of them. The way he had been close enough to imagine burying himself in their warmth. The way they flushed pink beneath his touch. The way they looked so plump and beautiful, tempting thoughts he should never have entertained.
He imagined pressing kisses along your legs, lingering there as though each touch were an act of devotion. He imagined how soft your pussy would feel beneath his lips, how he would part your folds just to stare at your glistening cunt, worshipping it with the reverence of a prayer.
Fr. Jeon was close to climaxing, using memories of your past interactions to fuel his sinful fantasies. His hand was slick with saliva and precum, his thighs tensing as he struggled to hold himself back. He tried to edge himself, to prolong the moment, because the sensation felt far too good after so many years of restraint.
Your body. Even beneath your long dresses and modest blouses, he could tell you were beautiful.
It shamed him that it had been one of the first things he noticed when he saw you wearing that rosary. The way your chest filled out your modest clothing. The way your waist appeared so delicate beneath layers of fabric. The way he found himself wondering what was hidden beneath all that lace and decency.
It was a sin he was terrified to acknowledge. A sin he was terrified to put into words.
But you were beautiful, kind, gentle, and devoted in your faith.
He wanted to fuck you.
When the shameful thought finally broke free from the restraints he had placed upon it, he came hard, his release staining the dark fabric of his slacks.
A deep groan tore from his throat as he continued to stroke himself, milking every last wave of pleasure from his body. His thumb brushed along the underside of his cock, chasing the lingering sensitivity.
“Fuck, I’m still hard,” he muttered, biting his lower lip as he glanced down at himself.
It was understandable.
After years of abstinence, it wasn't surprising that his body responded so eagerly. The restraint he had maintained for so long seemed to have shattered all at once.
Yearning.
All night, instead of losing himself in scripture, he gave in to temptation. His hand jerked shamelessly over his cock as his thoughts returned to you again and again. To every forbidden desire he had tried to suppress. To every impulse he had buried beneath prayer, discipline, and devotion.
Hours passed unnoticed.
He had so much pent-up desire, so much neglected hunger, that he remained awake until dawn, caught in an endless cycle of pleasure in jerking his insatiable cock. The office grew quiet around him while the darkness slowly gave way to morning light, yet his thoughts never strayed far from your face, your kindness, and the feelings he had spent so long denying.
And the fantasies that filled his mind were so sinful that he feared they had carried him beyond forgiveness.
“This should do it,” you giggled to yourself, wrapping the bandage poorly on purpose so he would have an excuse to fix it for you again.
Your box of cookies was already prepared, resting neatly on your lap while you held a bible in your hands and waited for Fr. Jeon.
Unfortunately, hours passed with nothing but the sound of turning pages accompanying you. You flipped through scripture after scripture, occasionally glancing toward the door, expecting him to appear at any moment.
Yet he never came.
Confused, you eventually stepped out of the office to look for him yourself. Perhaps he was outside helping with the donations or speaking with parishioners, as he often did. But after wandering around the church grounds and checking every place you could think of, you still couldn't find him anywhere.
“Where is he?” you pouted to yourself, a disappointed sigh slipping past your lips as you made your way back to his office.
By the time you returned, the warm glow of sunset had already begun spilling through the stained-glass windows.
Realizing he wasn't coming, you reluctantly decided to leave the cookies behind along with a small handwritten note. The thought alone made your chest feel strangely heavy.
“I miss him already,” you murmured, frowning at your own words.
It wasn't as if you could simply call or text him. Despite spending weeks at the church, Fr. Jeon had never given you his number, and you had never found the courage to ask for it. Perhaps it was because you preferred seeing him in person.
The idea of receiving his answers through a text message whenever you had questions about scripture felt disappointing somehow. You liked sitting across from him, listening to his voice as he patiently explained things to you. You liked the little smiles he gave you, the way his attention never seemed rushed, and the comfort that came with simply being around him.
That day left you unusually sad. It was the first time you hadn't seen him at all. Even when he was busy, he always managed to stop by, if only for a minute. No matter how much work he had, he never missed the opportunity to check on you.
Avoidance.
You came back today...hopeful that you would finally see him again and finally ask where he had been yesterday, you were instead met with confusion when he didn’t appear again. You pouted when you noticed the box of cookies you had left behind was still untouched, exactly where you had placed it.
“That’s odd, he can’t miss a bible reading,” you murmured to yourself, already accustomed to his usual routine. He always visited the church at a certain time to pray quietly and read scripture before continuing his day, and you had grown used to waiting for him during those moments.
But days passed, and he was still nowhere to be seen.
The cookies you had prepared for him began to lose their freshness, and the papers he usually kept neatly on his desk started to gather dust. A strange sense of unease settled in your chest as you tried to understand what had changed.
You asked around the church, speaking to parishioners and volunteers, hoping someone might have seen him or could explain where he had gone. But what you learned nearly broke your heart.
He was still coming to the church every day. He just arrived earlier now.
You had always known his schedule well—he used to visit his office around three in the afternoon, which was why you were always there waiting at that time. You never thought he would suddenly change it without warning.
“T-Thank you,” you managed to say, forcing a small smile when one of the parishioners finally informed you that he had been seeing Fr. Jeon every morning. You were lucky this particular parishioner stayed at the church throughout the day, otherwise you might never have learned the truth.
Still, the information left you disappointed and strangely hurt.
The fact that he was visiting every day but never acknowledged your cookies. The fact that he never even left a note to explain. The fact that you had been waiting for him all this time, dressed in your usual modest dresses, as if your presence alone meant anything to him.
Tears slowly began to gather in your eyes for reasons you couldn’t fully understand. It felt almost like being rejected without a single word, like a quiet heartbreak you hadn’t been prepared for. It seemed as though he was suddenly avoiding you.
“What did I do?” you pouted softly to yourself, walking home with slumped shoulders as you tried to wipe away the tears rolling down your cheeks.
On the way, your thoughts turned over your last interaction with him. Had you been too bold? Had he noticed something in you that you thought you had hidden well? Had he finally realized that your devotion wasn’t as pure as it appeared?
The more you thought about it, the more desperate you became to see him again. And instead of wanting to reveal your true ill intentions, you found yourself wishing the opposite—that he would see how devoted you were, how deeply you admired him, how willingly you would sacrifice your dignity just to remain close to him.
Restraint.
You didn’t know that he had been avoiding you all along, because your sick plan had finally taken effect, his careful restraint crumbling like a rock under pressure.
Fr. Jeon couldn’t bring himself to face you. Even the slightest eye contact felt like it would burn through his skin, your presence alone eating away at whatever remained of his guilt until there was nothing left but discomfort and temptation.
Desperate.
You woke up early that day, preparing yourself carefully so you could see him. The constant overthinking had become unbearable, and you were convinced that seeing him would finally calm your thoughts.
Slowly, you walked through the church halls, your kitten heels clicking softly against the marble floor. Your wandering gaze passed over parishioners and silent figures lost in prayer, the morning air gentle and warm as it settled over your chaotic mind. The scent of the church—fresh flowers and holy water—was oddly soothing as you moved deeper inside.
But as you went further in, you nearly lost your balance when you noticed his office door slightly ajar.
Your heart began to pound in anticipation as you carefully approached. And when you finally looked inside, your eyes widened.
There he was.
In his usual black clerical long-sleeved shirt and roman collar, Fr. Jeon stood looking down at the box of cookies you had left a week ago.
Your heart sank at the realization that he must have seen the box of cookies days ago—and still chose to ignore it.
Taking a steadying breath, you stepped inside and gently closed the door behind you, locking it without hesitation.
“Fr. Jeon,” you said softly.
He looked up immediately, his eyes widening as though he had seen something he shouldn’t have. For a brief moment, he looked almost like he had seen a ghost. His entire body stiffened, tension tightening in his posture as he forced himself upright.
“What are you doing here?” His tone came out sharper than intended, almost accusatory, as he tried to regain control of himself by straightening his clerical collar and adjusting the bridge of his glasses.
You frowned at the reaction, slowly taking a step closer. Something in your chest cracked when you noticed how his expression shifted with each movement you made—his brows tightening, his gaze dropping as if he couldn’t bear to hold it steady on you for too long.
“You didn’t get the cookies I got you,” you said with a small pout, glancing between the box and him as if the answer should have been obvious.
Fr. Jeon bit his lower lip and closed his eyes for a moment, as though needing time to steady himself.
“I was… busy,” he said, his throat tightening as he swallowed hard. He almost stepped back when you moved closer.
You tilted your head at him. “Am I taking too much of your time, Father?” you asked softly, your voice carrying a sad little pout.
Patience.
Fr. Jeon exhaled slowly and heavily, pressing his tongue against the inside of his cheek as if trying to ground himself. Your presence alone seemed to shut down every carefully built wall he had been maintaining.
He looked down at your sad pout, and something in him nearly cracked at the sight of your sadness. For a moment, his composure faltered as fantasies surged back in, uninvited and overwhelming.
For the past few days, he had been deliberately avoiding you. He had started arriving at the church earlier, knowing you always came in the afternoon, carefully timing his routines so he would not run into you. He avoided his office as well, because every corner of it reminded him of you.
But this morning, he had come in anyway.
And the first thing he saw was the box of cookies you had left behind… along with a small note that said you missed him.
Desire.
For the past few nights, he had been jerking his cock non-stop. Ever since that first time, he couldn’t shake the feeling, couldn’t resist the urge to return to it again and again—groaning your name under his breath like a sacred prayer.
“No, sweetheart… I’m just—”
“I’m sorry… I just really like it here, and I love talking to you,” you said in a soft tone, stepping closer until he could smell your vanilla perfume, your pleading eyes pulling him deeper into your orbit.
Fr. Jeon swallowed harshly, his pulse quickening at how sweet and beautiful you looked for him.
“Sweetheart—”
“Would you like me to leave?” you asked quietly, biting your lower lip.
His eyes dropped to your lips. His hands curled into fists, every passing second testing his hard-earned faith and devotion.
But no...he would rather endure the torment alone, rather than risk touching your beautiful, tempting soul.
“I’m sorry, but I can’t give you much of my time right now. I’ve been really busy—” Fr. Jeon said with finality.
Suddenly, you rose onto your tiptoes to meet his height and wrapped your arms around his neck, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek.
“It’s okay, Father… I understand,” you whispered, your lips lingering dangerously close to his.
Succumbed.
Before you could pull away, his hands slid to your waist, steadying you—holding you in place more firmly than expected. You were about to look at him in confusion when he suddenly crashed his lips into yours.
Your eyes widened, your body nearly falling backward, but he held you firmly in place. His kiss was harsh and desperate—like a man starved, and you were the only water in a burning desert.
His tongue forced its way into your mouth, and the sound of his low groan sent shivers down your spine.
His brows were furrowed tightly, every bit of pent-up frustration spilling into the kiss. It was rough, consuming—his control slipping as he pulled you deeper into it, saliva beginning to spill messily between your mouths from how intensely he claimed your lips.
When he finally pulled away, his pupils were blown wide. His lips were red and swollen, his chin damp with both of your saliva.
He released your waist almost instantly, as though you had burned him.
Swallowing hard, he stared down at your flushed cheeks and swollen lips.
Oh God. What had he done?
“W-What—” you stammered, bewildered, still in shock at how easily Fr. Jeon—a priest with such a good reputation….had fallen into your lips like a man undone by weakness and lust.
Surrendered.
When you saw him step back, his brows furrowing as if he had just realized what he had done, you immediately grabbed his arms.
“I—I’m sorry, this is blasphemous, I—”
You pulled him back and kissed him again, softer this time. “I like you, Fr. Jeon. Please don’t avoid me,” you almost pleaded, tugging him down so you could reach his lips again.
His eyes widened. He shook his head immediately. “Y/N, n-no… this is wrong,” he blurted weakly, trying to grab your wrists as you pulled him closer.
Hearing those words from your mouth struck something deep in him, shaking his resolve. He couldn’t fall for you, he couldn’t kiss you, he couldn’t touch you...he couldn’t even think about you.
The only solution was to stay away—to pretend none of this had ever happened.
You shook your head. “Please, I want you so badly… there’s nothing wrong with this,” you insisted, trying to kiss him again, but he turned away. His eyes were heavy-lidded, weakened, the air in the office suddenly suffocating.
“You make me happy, Fr. Jeon… please,” you pleaded.
He shook his head firmly. “I am a priest, Y/N. This is forbidden,” he said weakly, his voice low and rough—like every word cost him something, like it was painful to say.
“But...why did you kiss me?” you pleaded.
Fr. Jeon groaned under his breath, his adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed hard.
“Do you like me too, Fr. Jeon?” you pushed further, stepping closer, watching how much it seemed to strain him.
“Y/N, this is wrong—”
Your lips parted. “You...you like me,” you concluded when he didn’t deny it.
A small smile formed on your lips at the confirmation. Suddenly, the past few weeks made sense—the distance, the avoidance, the restraint. Everything clicked into place.
When he weakly let go of your wrists, you immediately wrapped your arms around his neck, as if he had finally surrendered to you. His lips parted, his eyes clouded and hazy.
“Since when, Father?” you whispered, your fingers playing with the hair at the nape of his neck.
He shut his eyes tightly. The feeling of your hands on him was already enough to send him spiraling. His lack of physical affection was becoming obvious in the way his body reacted—his restraint slipping under something as simple as your soft, shallow touch.
“The first time I saw you at the church,” he whispered so low you almost didn’t catch it, as though even admitting it was a sin.
You gasped, your eyes widening at the revelation that he had noticed you from the very beginning.
“I-I thought… you didn’t recognize me. Y-You were always so busy and—”
“I did,” he cut in softly, his voice rough. “But it’s impure of me to stare at such beauty. I cannot do that.”
His gaze dropped to your lips again, weak and conflicted.
You gasped, a fond grin forming on your beautiful face. “Indeed, that’s very impure of you…Father,” you giggled.
Fr. Jeon groaned, attempting to step back again, but this time you pulled him closer and kissed him without hesitation. When you tried to part his lips with yours, you felt him shake his head, his hands gripping your waist to hold you back.
“N-No… we can’t—”
“Shh... it’s okay, Father… we’ll keep this a secret,” you whispered like a little devil in disguise, your pouty lips brushing against his again. “No one will know…”
Fr. Jeon groaned, your words sending shivers down his spine. The tension between restraint and desire tightened further.
“No, sweetheart, this is wrong… we should—”
“Please, Father…I’m already so wet.” you mumbled softly, looking at him with pleading eyes.
His eyes widened. It had been a long time since he had heard such crude words—especially coming from a pretty mouth like yours.
“T-That’s—” he stammered, his composure slipping further under the weight of you.
“Unholy?” you giggled, taking his right hand and guiding it beneath your long skirt.
His lips parted when his fingers brushed against the wet fabric of your underwear. His cheeks and ears burned red at the realization of how aroused you were.
You bit your lip, rising onto your tiptoes to whisper against his ear.
“No one will know.” you dragged your tongue along the shell of it, smiling when you heard him let out a soft, broken sound.
Blasphemous.
His lips grazed your inner thighs as his once devout, God-bound gaze now fixed on your bare, wet pussy. He knelt before you like you were some immaculate saint.
“Y-You’re so beautiful,” he said breathlessly, his fingers parting your folds and gently pulling back your hood to expose your sensitive clit.
You gasped loudly when he spat onto your center, his soft lips immediately wrapping around your clit, sucking in both his saliva and your wetness.
“Oh, God,” you moaned.
Fr. Jeon looked almost sacred between your thighs. Your skirt was bunched at your waist just enough for him to fully indulge in your pussy, while his black clerical shirt began to stain from how much you were dripping onto him. His glasses had grown slightly fogged from the heat of his breath against your body and the warmth between your legs.
He ate your pussy like a starving man, unable to get enough. His tongue pushed inside your tight cunt in search of more, drawing more juices from you, while the obscene sounds of his mouth filled the room. His throat worked with every swallow, adam’s apple bobbing as he greedily took in every drop you gave him.
“You taste so good,” he mumbled between your thighs, the vibration of his voice sending pleasure straight to your core.
You bit your lip, giggling softly while trying to keep your balance—you were leaning against his desk.
“Do you like how wet it is?” you asked, looking down at him as if amused by how much he was enjoying himself.
Fr. Jeon nodded against your cunt. “So wet and pretty,” he mumbled, sucking your clit until his cheeks hollowed, his dimples showing each time he latched on harder.
The way he ate you out was wet and messy, continuously spitting as his lips stayed locked around your clit. You gasped when he pinched your folds together, trying to eat your entire pussy into his warm mouth.
Every time you squirmed, he tightened his grip on your thighs, groaning under his breath as if he wanted to drown himself in you completely.
Whenever he pulled back to breathe, he took a moment to stare at your swollen, messy cunt—admiring it like something sacred, something almost holy in its beauty. He whispered how ethereal it was before spitting on it again and diving back in hungrily.
“H-How come you’re so good at that?” you moaned, looking down at his mouth as he remained relentless, your juices dripping down his chin.
Fr. Jeon looked up at you, adjusting the glasses resting on the bridge of his nose. “I’ve fantasized about this,” he said with a smile. “I imagine devouring your cunt while I jerk off my cock.”
He pressed a light kiss to the top of your clit before burying his face against you again.
Your eyes rolled back at the confession, a small smirk playing on your lips. “Hmm... really? That’s ungodly, Father.”
Fr. Jeon only groaned, pressing his face deeper until you were certain he could barely breathe. “I’m only willing to surrender myself to you.”
You gasped. The way he said it felt so wrong, so forbidden, and your pussy throbbed at the thought of him willingly committing such sinful acts, of him literally being on his knees for you.
When he felt your wetness growing, he lifted his head slightly to look at your cunt. Using his index and middle finger, he spread you open, watching as more of your milky-white juices gathered.
Fr. Jeon groaned, swallowing hard at the sight of how wet and horny you had become.
“You like that, sweetheart?”
He gathered your juices, the pads of his fingers sliding down your slit and making you flinch. Your breath caught when you watched him scoop your cum onto his fingers and bring them to his mouth, tasting your sweetness. "You got so much wetter."
“Fr. Jeon, oh my—”
He continued gathering the excess wetness, scooping up your cum until he was satisfied that you were no longer dripping. His brows furrowed as he sucked the collected juices from his fingers, unwilling to let any of it go to waste.
When he finally gathered the last drop, you frowned as he rose to his feet.
For a moment, you thought he was done. Then he brought his fingers, coated with your cum, up to your mouth.
“Open up, sweetheart.” he whispered, his gaze lowering to your lips, swollen from how hard you had been biting them.
You slowly opened your mouth, moaning when he slid his fingers inside so you could taste your own juices mixed with traces of his saliva.
“You taste like sin, don’t you?” he said softly, his fingers twirling inside your mouth, nearly making you gag.
You sucked on his fingers, your cheeks hollowing eagerly as you looked up at him with expectant eyes. “Mhm. I want to taste how pure you are, then,” you said softly, sucking his fingers the way you imagined sucking his cock.
His cock twitched inside his slacks, precum already gathering at the swollen tip.
He immediately shook his head. “Want to make you cum first, sweetheart.”
Before you could protest, he was already kneeling again, his tongue out as he buried his face between your thighs as though his life depended on it. His nose brushed against your swollen clit while his tongue alternated between slow, deliberate licks and eager suction, determined to draw every reaction from you.
The moment he sensed you were getting close, he pushed his tongue deeper, determined to suck every drop. You were about to push him away from the sudden wave of oversensitivity, but his grip on you tightened.
"I wanna swallow it, please."
You bit down hard on your lip, whispering curses beneath your breath as your body tensed. Your pussy pulsed uncontrollably, heat rushing through you as release overtook your senses.
He groaned at the way your body responded to him, your pussy throbbing vigorously against his tongue.
“I-I want to pleasure you too,” you almost cried.
He didn't stop eating you, even after you came he was sucking your pussy again. He had already made you cum several times just by eating you out. Even after your fifth orgasm, he still hadn’t stopped—still devouring you, drawing out every last drop before spitting it back down onto your slit, pulling your folds apart just to watch it drip, then catching it again with his tongue as if he couldn’t get enough.
You were already overstimulated, your thighs burning from his tight grip, but every time you looked down at him, another wave of arousal surged through you. His brows were furrowed, his eyes closed, almost as if he were praying.
“Please, I want to eat your pussy more.” he mumbled, looking up at you through his glasses, his tongue teasing slow circles around your very swollen clit.
It had been hours. His knees were already red from kneeling, and your back ached from leaning against his desk, yet he still had the stamina to continue, again and again. His cheeks and chin were slick from your cum.
You could see his slacks straining…his arousal obvious beneath the fabric—but he remained focused, almost pleading when you tried to push him away, his mouth still following your spent pussy as if he couldn’t let go.
“Please… one more, sweetheart,” he begged, his thumb soothing along your inner thighs.
When you shyly nodded, he parted your legs further, scooping up what remained of your release as it dripped down. His face pressed in close, his nose brushing against you as he worked, the carpet below you already damp with a mixture of saliva and your arousal.
Unholy.
The once-simple afternoon bible sessions had turned into something far more profane.
The moment you arrived at his office and locked the door behind you, his hands were immediately around you. He would drop to his knees, pushing your panties aside so he could press his face against your wet slit, sniffing your cunt before his tongue slipped out to taste your wetness.
“Hmm… do you like my pussy, Fr. Jeon?” you whispered, fingers tangling in his hair as he indulged you.
He groaned against you, burying his face deeper. “Like it so much.”
He was always so desperate—needy, almost whiny. It was obvious how deeply his years of abstinence had affected him, how long he had denied himself even the thought of such intimacy.
Every touch carried the weight of that restraint, as though all those years of self-denial had finally found an outlet. The way he ate your pussy for hours without stopping, the way he would suck your breasts until they turned swollen and red.
Every time you tried to touch him, he would pin your hands down instead. You had never really touched him yet—he always insisted on giving first, on worshipping you instead. He would say that pleasing you was enough,that eating your cum was enough for him, that devoting himself to your body was what satisfied him most.
“Shh, sweetheart… please be quiet.” he pleaded, his middle and index finger pushing inside your cunt, knuckles deep while massaging your spongy spot.
You were certain his fingers were already wrinkled from how long he had been fingering you, your nipples swollen and sensitive from how harshly he had been sucking them while rubbing your clit.
You bit your lip, tears almost forming in your eyes from how good it felt. “S-sorry, it’s just so good,” you mumbled incoherently.
Fr. Jeon groaned. “Yeah?” He spat down where his fingers met your pussy. “Hear that, sweetheart? You’re so wet for me.” he muttered, biting your nipple harshly while his fingers continued going in and out of your wet cunt, the sounds echoing inside the church office.
You were always a whining mess. Even if he hadn’t fucked you yet, your body was constantly left exhausted from how intensely he made you cum repeatedly. Your legs were always wobbly and shaking after each round, and you would always come home with new hickeys and bruises left by his harsh mouth.
He had the stamina to go on for hours and hours, until the entire afternoon was filled with nothing but wet sounds and your filthy moans echoing through his office.
You wanted to return the pleasure so badly, but every time he begged you to eat your pussy, your knees would go weak. You always gave him what he wanted, opening your legs and spreading your cunt for him.
It was one afternoon when you decided that you wanted to please him.
He was busy sucking on your nipples when you noticed how hard he was beneath his slacks. Your eyes rolling back when you saw him almost humping the air.
With a determined groan, you gently pushed him away from you. Your nipples were already pink and swollen.
“Let me taste you,” you pleaded, pressing a kiss to his cheek before trailing down his jaw.
He protested again, trying to guide you back against the couch.
“Sweetheart—”
“Please, Father.” you begged. “You always make me cum so good. I think I’d cum even harder if I got to taste your cock.”
You couldn’t deny that he always left you more than satisfied, constantly pushing you to the edge of overstimulation. Every time it happened, you could see just how hard his cock was. Sometimes, you would even catch the subtle movements of his hips while he was buried between your thighs, completely consumed by pleasuring you.
Fr. Jeon licked his lower lip, as though contemplating whether he could truly accept the idea of you being on your knees for him. It felt like too much to bear, as if he wasn’t ready for it yet. Shamefully, he was certain he would cum the moment your lips touched his tip.
But seeing you like this—begging, your lips drawn into a sweet pout—made his resolve weaken. His eyes fluttered shut helplessly as you eagerly knelt in front of him.
“Sweetheart,” he rasped, swallowing hard.
You looked up at him before slowly leaning forward and pressing a soft kiss against the bulge beneath his slacks.
A harsh groan escaped him. His cock throbbed beneath the fabric, and that simple, innocent kiss was almost enough to make him stumble.
When you pulled down his zipper, you gasped audibly at the sight of his black boxers, already soaked with a large patch of wetness from his precum.
“You’re leaking, Father,” you said with a pout, looking up at him with sparkling eyes.
He sucked in a breath, his hands curling into fists as he struggled to compose himself. You looked beautiful and completely undignified at the same time, and it was becoming harder and harder for him to resist.
Slowly, you tugged down his boxers...just enough to tuck his balls and free his hard cock.
Your eyes widened.
He was huge and pretty, twitching on his own and curving upward. Thick veins ran along his shaft, and his swollen pink tip glistened with precum.
You licked your lower lip, unable to hide your anticipation at the sight of him. Leaning forward, you pressed a soft kiss to the wet tip.
A strained whimper escaped him.
His hands immediately grabbed the sides of his clerical shirt, as though physically restraining himself from losing control over something as simple as your lips touching him.
“Look at me when I suck you, Fr. Jeon.” you said, raising a brow when you noticed him avoiding eye contact.
He bit his lower lip, trying to look down at you.
You gasped when his cock twitched the moment you made eye contact.
With a teasing look, you slowly sucked his mushroom tip while keeping your eyes on him, fluttering your lashes as you took him into your warm mouth.
He groaned harshly. He was about to close his eyes, but you shook your head immediately.
“Eyes on me, please.”
“Oh, God,” he whimpered, looking down at you through heavy-lidded eyes as you eagerly sucked his leaking tip.
You swirled your tongue along the underside of his cock, his eyes rolling back every time you repeated the motion. When you finally pulled away, you spat on the tip, your fingers immediately spreading your saliva and his precum along the shaft, leaving him even wetter and messier.
“Does it feel good?” you asked before taking his tip into your mouth again, trying to take him deeper until his mushroom head brushed the back of your throat. The upward curve of his cock dragged against the roof of your mouth, drawing another whimper from him.
“Y-You look like a slut,” he blurted out through a moan, his jaw repeatedly tensing, his knuckles turning white from how tightly he was fisting his shirt.
You looked up at him and nodded obediently...like a good girl seeking praise.
He bit his lower lip. “My pretty slut.”
Fr. Jeon was trying so hard not to come. He wanted to savor the feeling of your tight mouth around him for as long as possible, wanted to hold on to it, to prolong it, but you were simply too much..too pretty, too warm. Every time you took him deeper, his resolve weakened a little more.
Your eyes were already beginning to redden, your throat struggling to accommodate his thickness. Drool slipped messily down your chin, and the wet, obscene sounds coming from your mouth only pushed him closer to the edge. Each swallow, each desperate attempt to take more of him, made his chest tighten with pleasure, his restraint slipping further and further away.
Whenever you pulled back to catch your breath, you would stroke his cock quickly with your hands and spit messily onto his tip.
Before the saliva could slide down his length, you would take him back into your mouth, licking along his shaft and tracing the prominent veins with your tongue before returning to the swollen underside of his head with soft, teasing kitten licks.
Using your free hand, you reached up to cup his balls gently, applying just enough pressure to make him whimper. The movement only made it harder for him to hold himself together, especially as you continued gagging on his cock like a good little slut.
The moment you noticed him clutching his shirt again, you immediately grabbed his hand.
“Use my mouth, Father,” you whispered, guiding his hand to your hair, silently urging him to take control.
Fr. Jeon groaned and shook his head, but your eagerness never wavered. You paused, waiting patiently for him, your eyes fixed on his face.
The moment you placed your hands obediently behind your back, he nearly cursed the Lord himself.
He weakly dragged a hand through your hair, gathering it away from your face before pulling you a little closer. His jaw tightened as he looked down at you, every ounce of restraint tested by the sight of your quiet obedience.
Grabbing your hair with both hands, he guided your face toward him before finally rolling his hips, slowly thrusting into your waiting mouth.
“God, you really are a slut,” he moaned, his composure unraveling a little more with every passing second.
Whenever he pulled back, you would twirl your tongue around the underside of his crown, earning a shaky whimper from him. Then, he would push you down forcefully onto his cock, your nose hitting his pubic hair as he lost whatever restraint he had left.
“Fuck, I’m gonna cum, sweetheart,” he whimpered.
Your mouth was already growing tired, but you remained determined, refusing to pull away. Tears gathered in your eyes and slipped down your cheeks as you struggled to keep up with him, yet you stayed exactly where he wanted you.
When he saw the tears in your eyes, he almost stopped.
But you eagerly took him deeper, deliberately pushing forward until your face was pressed flush against his pubic hair. Your mouth struggled to accommodate his thickness, soft gargling sounds escaping despite your efforts to suppress them, yet you took everything he gave you.
“God, fuck.” his eyes rolled back as he released hot, thick cum into your mouth.
He was about to push you away when your hands tightened around the backs of his thighs, holding him firmly in place...determined not to let a single drop of his cum go to waste.
“Sweetheart,” he said weakly.
When you finally pulled away- his cock slipping from your lips, you stuck out your tongue to show him his thick, milky cum. Your lashes fluttered as you held his gaze for a moment, letting him take in the sight before you swallowed.
Delirious.
“The spirit indeed is willing, but the flesh is weak.”
Fr. Jeon stood before the congregation, one hand resting lightly against the pulpit as he prepared to proclaim the gospel.
“A reading from the Holy Gospel according to Matthew.”
“Glory to You, O Lord,” you whispered under your breath, your sparkling eyes lifted up toward him.
You were in your usual favorite spot—in the front row, like his favorite little church girl—your hair tied with a white ribbon, a long modest dress hiding the sinful image beneath.
Every time he spoke, his eyes never lingered on you. He looked over the crowd like a devoted priest, delivering his words slowly, with quiet passion. And whenever he did happen to find you in the congregation, he would only glance past you, as if you were anyone else.
You smirked inwardly. Who would’ve known that this same priest was literally begging on his knees to eat your pussy inside the church office?
When Holy Communion came, you made sure to open the first few buttons of your dress, revealing the rosary necklace you were wearing—the small cross resting between the plush curve of your cleavage.
“The Body of… Christ,” Fr. Jeon said slowly, his eyes drifting down to the rosary wrapped around your neck, the cross sitting dangerously above your breasts.
“Amen,” you said softly, parting your lips for him.
You almost smiled in quiet victory when you saw his jaw tighten—his composure slowly, subtly fracturing beneath the weight of your sacrilegious act.
When he placed the host on your tongue, you leaned in just slightly too far, letting your tongue brush against his thumb in a fleeting, deliberate touch. So small it could be denied. So intentional it could not be mistaken.
A soft hum escaped you as you pulled back, watching the shift in him—the way his body stilled, the way his breath caught. You were already turning away when his voice followed you, low and controlled.
“Meet me after this.”
You looked up at him, briefly thrown, but his gaze had already returned to the ritual at hand, as if nothing had happened.
Delight curled through you at the sight of him unraveling so carefully in public, holding himself together by force alone while you watched the cracks form in real time.
And when you returned to your seat, you could still feel it—the difference. His voice had deepened into something sharper, more distant. His posture stiffened as he finished the mass, each word now measured, restrained, as though he were forcing himself back into place one line at a time.
Wicked.
Sitting properly on the couch in his office, you waited patiently for Fr. Jeon. It was the first time you would see each other up close after mass, and the thought alone made a soft, bubbling excitement bloom in your chest.
You even brought a small box of cookies for him, carefully balanced in your lap, as if sweetness alone could disguise the anticipation curling beneath your ribs.
When the office door finally opened, you looked up at once and smiled.
He stood there still in his liturgical vestments. Over his white alb, he wore a flowing chasuble that draped heavily over his shoulders, embroidered gold catching the afternoon light that spilled through the glass windows like something almost sacred in itself. A white stole rested beneath it all, marking him clearly as the celebrant of the mass, a figure meant to be untouchable.
He looked absolutely breathtaking—so holy, so distant, so unreachable.
And yet, you already had him like a servant—willing, obedient, on his knees for you.
When he walked toward you, his expression was serious and unyielding. You stood up quickly, excitement lifting you, holding out your small gift for him.
“Good afternoon, Fr. Jeon. I got you cooki—”
The cookies slipped from your hands as he suddenly closed the distance, his hand wrapping around your throat. The rosary beads pressed sharply into your skin.
“I told you...that rosaries are not meant to be worn around your neck, didn’t I?” he said in a mocking tone, his voice low and controlled. His eyes looked darker behind his glasses.
His liturgical vestments suddenly felt overwhelming in this close space, no longer distant or ceremonial, but imposing, almost suffocating, as if you were only now realizing the weight of him in this proximity.
You gasped as his fingers tightened slightly around your throat, not enough to hurt—just enough to demand an answer.
“Y-You did, Father.”
“Mhm. I did,” he murmured, tilting his head slightly. “Didn’t I?”
A shiver ran down your spine as you felt the shift in him—how his composure had snapped so suddenly, as if the thin thread of his restraint, stretched in the presence of the Lord, had finally given way.
Dominance.
You gasped when he kissed you hard, cutting off your breath in an instant. His other hand bunched up the long skirts of your dress, hot palms slipping beneath the fabric to cup your warm pussy.
“You’re so impure,” he chuckled darkly, his fingers tracing over your clothed clit.
A soft moan escaped you as you tried to wriggle in his hold, but his grip at your throat kept you firmly in place.
“Sit on my desk and spread your legs,” he commanded, releasing you all at once—both your throat and your pussy.
With shaky legs, you moved toward his desk, climbing onto it and bunching your long skirt up around your waist before slowly spreading your legs wide for him.
Fr. Jeon walked toward you, his gaze fixed on the sight of you—so openly willing for him. The rosary cross rested between your breasts like a sin made visible, the white ribbons in your hair now looking almost tainted, your dress bunched up enough to expose your wet cunt to him.
His fingers closed around the rosary you were wearing. Your breath hitched as he slowly pulled it, forcing your neck to tilt forward with the motion.
“You’re such a whore, wearing this around me,” he said in a condescending tone, drawing you closer until he pressed a shallow kiss to your lips.
“I-Isn’t it pretty?” you asked weakly, still trying to tease him.
He let out a humorless chuckle. Without another word, he reached for the scripture on his desk. “I’ll show you what’s pretty.”
You gasped as he pulled the rosary again, forcing you forward while his other hand held the bible. “Open your mouth.”
Confused, you slowly obeyed, your eyes widening when he suddenly placed the book between your teeth.
“Hold still and bite the scripture,” he commanded sharply before spreading your legs wider.
You bit down hard on the book as he suddenly slapped your cunt.
“Mhmp!” you whimpered, eyes watering from the intensity of it.
Fr. Jeon raised a brow. He lifted his hand, bringing his fingers to his mouth and sucking them clean, his gaze locked on you as he slowly dragged his tongue over them. You bit down harder on the book when he used his saliva-coated fingers to slap your cunt again.
“Shh, quiet, sweetheart… there are other people outside- praying,” he said mockingly, tugging lightly on the rosary around your neck.
You bit down harder when he slapped your cunt again, pulling harshly on the rosary around your neck whenever your whimpers escaped.
“Poor baby… you want me to finger you?” he cooed, slapping your cunt once more. Your panties were already soaked, your arousal building from the relentless stimulation.
You eagerly nodded, drool spilling past your lips and onto the scripture beneath you. Your neck was beginning to ache and swell each time he tugged on the beads.
“Do you deserve it?” he asked, twirling the rosary between his fingers, playing with it slowly.
A tear slipped down your cheek when he slapped your cunt again. Your thighs tried to wriggle on the table, but he only pulled harder on the rosary in response.
“It’s okay, sweetheart. I’m finally going to give you what you want,” he said, letting go of you.
Your eyes almost rolled back when you saw him kneel.
You drooled messily against the book when he flipped your panties aside, three of his fingers immediately slipping inside you to stretch your cunt.
“So tight, sweetheart,” he chuckled, leaning in to press a soft kiss to your clit while his fingers continued to thrust inside you.
Each time his fingers pulled back, a fresh gush of wetness spilled out, revealing just how needy and aroused you were.
Looking down, you saw how godly he looked—kneeling so close to your pussy, lips parted as he watched his fingers disappear in and out of your tight hole.
“Mhmph,” you whimpered, his fingers knuckles deep inside you, brushing against your spongy spot and leaving you wriggly and tingly.
“You’re so soaked, sweetheart. It’s so hard to rub you properly like this… so, so wet.”
When he saw how restless you were getting, he suddenly removed his fingers. You were about to frown when he stood up, your eyes widening as he began removing his chasuble and slacks.
“This is what you wanted, right?” he taunted, finally revealing his hard cock.
It was already thick and hard, twitching on its own before he even touched it. Prominent veins pulsed along the girth, and his mushroom tip looked swollen and flushed. Using his fingers, he squeezed the plump head, drawing out more precum before spreading it along the shaft. He slowly rolled the foreskin down, his gaze fixed on your helpless body.
“Do you want this cock inside your tight little pussy?” he said breathily, jerking his hard cock in his hand…his eyes were heavy-lidded, lips slightly parted.
You nodded eagerly, tears spilling down your cheeks from anticipation. Your pussy pulsed hard, leaking more of your arousal down onto the table beneath you.
He chuckled, gripping both of your thighs and spreading them wider for him. “Hold your skirt up, sweetheart,” he murmured, as your long skirt kept drifting down while he positioned you.
With weak hands, you slowly bunched your skirt up. Your jaw was already aching from biting down on the book, but you were determined to be a good girl for him, biting down harder as your eyes turned red and your cheeks flushed, warm and swollen.
When he positioned his mushroom tip against your slit, you almost dropped the book. The feeling of his wet cock against your folds sent a sharp jolt through you.
“Gonna fuck you now, sweetheart,” he whispered, leaning in to press a soft kiss to your forehead.
Your teeth nearly ached from how hard you bit down when he suddenly pushed inside you. Your tight walls immediately sucked him in. You watched his lips part in shock, his eyes rolling back for a moment—before he could even thrust, you felt him spilling inside you.
“Fuck, sweetheart,” he cursed under his breath, trembling as he suddenly came so hard inside you, his lips parting at how good your pussy felt.
You were so warm and tight that he was already convulsing. His grip on your waist tightened so hard it was almost painful. You were shocked—you hadn’t expected him to cum that quickly, but then again, it had been so long since he’d done anything like this. The pent-up frustration was overwhelming, and the moment he felt you, he was already shaking.
When you saw him trembling, you slowly removed the book from your lips. Your jaw ached, but you still managed to give him a small, weak smile.
“Mhm, am I tight, Fr. Jeon?” you whispered weakly, feeling him twitch inside you, filling you with so much cum that it had you feeling completely full.
"T-Too tight." he groaned.
His arms were growing weaker, still trying to push his cum deeper and deeper into your cunt. His cock was already overstimulated and softening, but he still wanted his cum buried deep inside you, some of it already dripping down your thighs.
He groaned, pushing his cock deeper until he was finally hard again. You could feel his mushroom tip swell once more, your pussy stretching around his thickening girth.
“You feel so good,” he whispered, eyes heavy-lidded as he looked down at you. He had come so hard he had nearly forgotten about the book he made you bite down on, his rational thoughts slipping away completely, leaving only the heat and the feeling of you.
You bit your lip, opening your legs wider. “Yeah? Do you miss having such a warm pussy around your cock?”
His lips parted...his right hand returned to your neck, fingers wrapping around your throat.
“What a dirty mouth you have,” he whispered breathily, like he was only just remembering why he was fucking you so hard in the first place.
He squeezed your throat, earning a loud whimper from you.
Before you could coo at him, he was already flipping you over, bending you against his desk. He immediately grabbed the book, shoving it forcefully into your mouth.
“You think I’m done, huh?” he taunted, kneeling down behind you.
You groaned, biting down on the scripture again, whimpering loudly when you felt him spreading your wet pussy from behind.
“Push my cum out for me,” he said, opening your folds and waiting for you to push it out.
You contracted your pussy, and a gush of his milky white cum spilled from your used hole. Before it could even drip onto the floor, his tongue was already there, scooping it up and swallowing everything until no trace was left.
When he stood up, you were left a trembling mess. Your eyes widened as he pulled on the rosary necklace, the beads wrapping around your throat like a collar. He used it as leverage before pushing his cock back inside you.
“Shh… bite down on the scripture. Let it silence your impurity,” he murmured behind you, thrusting deeper and harder until your body was nearly bouncing against the table from the force of it.
You wanted to moan so badly. The way his mushroom tip kept brushing against your g-spot felt so overwhelming. When he angled his hips in slow circular motions, your weak lips finally dropped the book, and you gasped as it hit the floor with a dull thud.
The moment he felt you slipping out of control, he stopped—only for you to immediately reach for the book. Before you could even grab it, he flipped you onto your back again.
“Fucking whore, can’t follow simple instructions while my cock’s deep inside you, huh?” he taunted, ripping the buttons of your dress just enough to expose your breasts.
“I-I’m sorry, I—”
You shrieked loudly when he suddenly slapped your nipples, the area turning immediately pink.
“Stay there,” he commanded.
You went still at once, your weak eyes following his movements as he reached into the bottom cabinet of his desk.
When he stood up again, he was holding a candle and a box of matches. “Hold this, sweetheart.”
He usually used those candles during scripture readings, letting the flame illuminate the pages.
You held it for him as instructed, watching as he struck a match and lit it, the small flame flickering to life before he set the match aside.
You turned slightly, glancing toward the window. There was still daylight outside—enough to see clearly. Before you could ask what he needed it for, he took the candle from your hand.
“Fr. Jeon, w-what are you—”
Your eyes widened when he tilted the candle downward, the wax threatening to drip onto your breasts. You gasped sharply when it finally landed on your nipple.
“Does it feel good?” he whispered, lowering the candle toward the other bud.
When the hot wax fell onto your other nipple, you moaned loudly, your hands gripping the edge of the desk as pain and pleasure collided.
It was hot and shocking—yet, for some reason, the sting felt addictive, almost intoxicating.
“Y-Yes, Father.” you bit your lower lip hard, watching as the candle was now directed toward your inner thighs.
He raised a brow, your nipples already covered in white wax. “Yeah? Does this get you wet?”
Before you could answer, he was already pouring hot wax onto your left inner thigh. The pain there was sharper, more intense—like the skin was far more delicate and sensitive. When you instinctively tried to close your legs, he held them open, spreading you wider as he moved the candle to drip more wax onto your right inner thigh.
“Oh, God,” you moaned loudly, the hot wax dripping dangerously close to your wet pussy.
You were already trembling. The mix of heat and pain felt overwhelming yet addictive, tears falling uncontrollably down your cheeks.
Fr. Jeon chuckled at you. “What a pretty little pain slut… I’m supposed to punish you with this, but you’re dripping like a whore.”
He grabbed your cheeks, raising the candle up toward your face. “Make a wish,” he whispered.
You looked up at him with weak eyes, your nipples and inner thighs still burning and oversensitive from the wax. With a faint, shaky smile, you told him your wish.
“Fuck me like a slut, Fr. Jeon." you said breathily.
He growled harshly, stepping back a little to admire his work on your body, how the wax was covering your skin like a sin, how your pussy was so swollen and red, yet your hole was still eagerly twitching to be used.
He tilted his head. “You want that, sweetheart?” he said sweetly, his tone contradicting what he had just done to you.
You nodded eagerly. "Please, use my body like a whore, cum inside me until I’m dripping full of your cum, abuse my tight little pussy until I’m all loose and gaping, release all your forbidden frustrations and destroy my dignity.”
Fallen.
You couldn’t count the number of times you came around his cock that night—his cock thrusting so hard and deep inside you that you could feel how stretched your pussy was.
Every time you tried to fight him, he would push your body down onto the desk, threatening to silence you with scripture whenever you tried to break free from his hold.
When you thought he was done, he would maneuver your body again, spreading your legs wide so he could fuck you hard. His cross necklace would dangle in your face with every thrust. Whenever you moaned too loudly, he would punish you by dripping hot wax onto your inner thighs.
He would always condescendingly praise you, telling you what a poor little girl you were, letting him use you for his own sick pleasure.
"God, you'd let me use you whenever I want wouldn't you? Letting me fuck this tight pussy inside the church, like a good little christian." he would whisper.
It was so lewd when he asked you to touch yourself using the hand that wore his birthstone bracelet, urging you to part your lips for him, watching how the beads would brush over your clit every time you fucked your fingers inside your used, swollen hole.
"That's right...stretch your pussy, sweetheart. I want you nice and gaping when I fuck you again."
Then he would pull your body up, forcing you to bounce on his cock while pressing the beads deeper into your throat. He held both of your cheeks with his free hand so he could continually spit into your parted mouth, watching it drip messily down your chin like a cheap filthy whore. "I love how sinful and dirty you are...so perfect for me."
Capitulated.
You never forgot him, after that night he vanished like a wind.
When you heard that he had suddenly been appointed to another city, it felt as though the ground had been pulled from beneath your feet. Overnight, he was simply gone. The weekly sunday mass was no longer presided over by him, and no matter how many people you asked, nobody seemed to have a clear answer as to why.
All you heard were rumors.
Some said he wanted to experience ministry in a different city. Others claimed he had become so busy that he was constantly traveling between churches, handling responsibilities in several places at once. Every explanation sounded vague, rehearsed, and unsatisfying.
You wanted to believe them. But you couldn't.
For months, you carried that bitterness inside you. A part of you convinced yourself that he had simply left. That perhaps everything you shared had meant far less to him than it had to you. The thought hurt more than you cared to admit, especially because, between the two of you, you had been the dishonest one. You had been the one who approached him with hidden intentions, who slowly seduced him, who carefully led him into your snare while pretending to be an innocent church girl.
Yet somewhere along the way, things had changed.
For all your lies, for all your schemes and carefully crafted devotion, you couldn't deny what had happened to your own heart. You had fallen in love with his kindness. Not because he was a priest. Not because he was forbidden. Not because winning his attention felt like a challenge.
But because it was him.
It was the way he remembered small details about you. The way he listened whenever you spoke. The way he always treated people with patience and warmth. Somewhere between the scripture lessons, the afternoon conversations, and the countless boxes of cookies, your feelings had become real.
Then, one afternoon, a letter arrived.
Your hands trembled as you opened it, your heart pounding with a mixture of hope and dread. As your eyes moved across the page, tears immediately gathered in them.
All this time, you had believed he left because he wanted to.
The truth was far worse.
Someone had noticed. Someone had seen the way he treated you differently from everyone else—the way his gaze lingered a little too long, the way his voice softened whenever he spoke to you, the way he always seemed to make time for you no matter how busy he was. And eventually, they had discovered what happened behind the closed doors of the church office.
Tears slipped down your cheeks as you continued reading, your vision blurring with every line. For the first time since he disappeared, you finally understood why he had left.
The moment the parish discovered what had happened, he immediately apologized—to the church, to his superiors, and most of all, to the Lord. He had even offered his resignation, believing he was no longer worthy of his position.
But they refused. The parish forgave him.
They told him he was too kind, too devoted, too valuable to lose over a mistake. Instead of removing him from the priesthood, they gave him a chance to start over in a different city, far away from the rumors and whispers. They told him that what happened was a test of faith. A temptation. That God would always be stronger in his heart than any earthly attachment.
You were the temptation they spoke about.
You never wrote back, you never tried contacting him again. Because if he had truly wanted you, he would have resigned. He would have walked away from the collar, from the church, from the life he had chosen long before you entered it.
He would have chosen you.
Instead, when forced to decide between you and God, he surrendered himself to God. And that answer was enough.
With a deep breath, you entered the confession booth. You wanted to confess your sins, you wanted to move on.
It had been two years, and somehow you were still holding on to him.
Whenever Sana mentioned his name, your eyes would sting with unshed tears. Whenever you heard stories about him…how successful he had become, how respected he was as a priest now…an ache would settle deep inside your chest.
You could no longer step inside a church without thinking about him.
The stained-glass windows, the scent of incense, the quiet hum of prayer before mass. Every sacred thing had become tangled with the memory of him, until devotion and desire were no longer things you could separate.
So, with a heavy heart, you finally decided to let him go.
Sitting inside the confessional that afternoon, your fingers twisted nervously in your lap as you gathered the courage to speak.
A thin wooden partition stood between you, a barrier meant to separate priest from sinner, confession from judgment, devotion from temptation.
“Bless me, Father…. for I have sinned.” you said softly, behind the confession grille.
Your voice…soft and unforgettable, echoed through the small confessional booth.
The familiar scent of vanilla wrapped around him like a memory he had spent years trying to forget.
Warnings: sex with your ex, established relationship, mafia jeongguk if you squint really hard, you're exes but can't stay away from each other, drinking, vaping, oral - female receiving, fingering, creampie, unprotected sex, dirty talk kind of, implied consensual rough sex, implied breeding kink, you're utterly obsessed with each other it's quite sickening, basically me telling reader to stand the fuck up the entire time, possessive jeongguk, controlling jeongguk, toxic relationships, biker jeongguk
Word count: 20,322
Summary: You know how to leave Jeongguk. You just don't know how to stay away.
Cross posted on AO3
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Other work: Make Me Water - JiKook x Reader
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***I don’t condone nor am I trying to glamorize toxic relationships btw. This is just an idea I’ve wanted to write. Got a problem? Don’t read! This one’s for those who get it.***
The restaurant felt louder than it needed to be. Not because it actually was. Nothing about it was remarkable enough to justify that kind of noise but everything in it seemed to be happening just slightly out of sync along with your patience.
The clink of cutlery against ceramic. The forced laugh from the couple two tables over. The low, continuous hum of conversation that faded into something like static.
And him.
He was talking again. You weren’t even sure what about anymore.
Something to do with his job. Or his plans. Or a story that had already looped twice with slightly different embellishments. As if he was trying to convince you of it as much as he was entertaining you with it.
You nodded anyway. Smiled at the right intervals. Tilted your head in the appropriate places. It was almost impressive from how good you were at pretending to be present.
“I actually told my colleague," He was saying, leaning towards you as if this was a confession, “That I might be moving into wealth management full time next year. There’s just more opportunity there, you know? More money. Less hours at the office. More time for travel.” He leaned back with a cocky smile, lips at the edge of his wine glass, “And of course more time for a pretty little lady like you as well.” He gave you a wink.
You blinked slowly. Wealth management. Money. Travel. Little lady? Bruh. You took a sip of water just to give your mouth something to do besides sigh under your breath, “That sounds… great. Love that for you.” You forced a pained smile. Liar. Your eyes drifted down towards the table. To the edge of the wine glass you hadn’t bothered touching. The condensation sliding down it in lazy streaks. You watched it like it was more interesting than the conversation. Probably because it was.
“Exactly!” He said, completely missing the fact that you had mentally checked out of this conversation fifteen minutes ago, “And my buddy keeps telling me I'd be crazy not to make the jump. I mean, the earning potential alone-”
You nodded robotically, “Mmm.”
“Once you start managing higher value clients…” He trailed on.
“Right.”
“You really open a lot of doors for yourself.”
“Oh yeah. For sure. Totally.” You weren't even listening anymore. You knew the general shape of what he was saying. Money. Career. Himself. The conversation felt less like a date and more like a podcast you couldn't turn off. Your gaze drifted across the restaurant. Looking at the servers weaving between tables. Staring at the city lights shining through the windows.
Placing your attention on anything but him.
He kept talking. You stopped listening.
At some point, you started thinking about your couch. About your bed. About silence.
Solace. The one thing that didn’t require you to perform.
That was when it hit you. Recognition. That sinking realization that you were already counting down the minutes until you could leave. The truth was, a man could tell you everything about himself for three hours straight and still never tell you anything that mattered.
You glanced back at him. Still talking. Completely captivated by the sound of his own voice.
For the first time all evening, you understood why dating had felt so exhausting lately. It wasn't because you were comparing everyone to… him.
It was because you had once been loved by someone who paid attention… Someone who noticed when your smile was fake… Someone who could tell you were bored without you saying a word… Someone who would have stopped talking ten minutes ago and asked what was wrong... Other people simply could not do it for you anymore.
You forced the thoughts away as your mind began to stray because the last thing you wanted to think about on a date with another man… was your ex boyfriend.
When the check finally arrived, you nearly exhaled out loud in relief. He reached for it immediately, of course. Insisted, of course. As though this was still part of the game he thought he was winning.
You didn’t argue about picking up the check. Didn’t try to pay. The dinner you had with him was mediocre anyway. Still sitting at the top of your stomach and threatening to give you indigestion. It wasn’t an upscale restaurant. Not that you were expecting to be wined and dined. However, for a person who claimed to be working in finance or… whatever the fuck he said he did, he was hyping this place up as if it were anything to write home about.
He mumbled something you didn’t hear as he took his credit card out. Intentionally flashing the expensive watch on his wrist. Turning the gold of the credit card towards you as if having that type of card mattered to you. You almost yawned. Having to stifle it down quickly before he noticed that you were falling asleep in front of him.
You simply nodded again at the next thing he said. Smiled again. And then the chair scraped across the floor of the restaurant when you stood up with haste. You tried to leave first. But he insisted on walking you out. Insisted to wait for your cab to arrive. And insisted on keeping you company the entire while too.
God, he was fucking annoying.
Outside, the air hit your face like a reset button. Sharp and real. You inhaled too deeply, like your lungs had been waiting for permission to breathe. You had long forgotten he was standing at your side until you heard his voice again,
“Tonight was really great.” He said beside you. Inching forward closer. A firm hand reaching out to rest against the small of your back as he asked, “Did you have a good time?”
You had your eyes on your phone. Barely hearing the question. Tracking the rideshare you had ordered and silently pleading for the driver to step on the gas.
Estimated time of arrival - 2 minutes.
Two minutes too fucking long.
You felt the foreign touch against the lower part of your back. Just barely above the curve of your ass. Too bold. Too confident. Too much for a first date. You looked at him and nodded quickly. Forcing yourself to smile once more as you adjusted the strap of your purse on your shoulder. Almost shaking his touch off from you with the motion.
He looked expectant. As if he was waiting for your response. Right.
You hesitated for half a second too long with your answer. Weighing between if you wanted to tell him the cold hard truth. Thinking if you wanted to tell him he was unseasoned and boring. That he didn’t ask you once about yourself. And when you did talk about yourself, he seemed uninterested.
You thought against it. Valuing your life more than speaking the truth. He was a man after all. A man you didn’t know like that. You didn’t trust what his reaction would be to your brutal honesty. Instead, you braced yourself for what was to come next. Praying for your ride to hurry the fuck up,
“Yeah.” You lied. And then lied again, “It was nice. I had a good time.”
“Text me?” He asked with a smile that was too confident to be hopeful.
“Absolutely.” You replied automatically. Your voice sounding a bit too robotic. You knew you wouldn’t be texting him at all. Almost unlocking your phone in front of him to block his number right there and then.
He closed in towards you for a hug and you awkwardly leaned in as well. But as his arms went around you, he quickly turned his head towards your lips. You physically recoiled. Craning your head so far away you could have fallen backwards as you cleared your throat, “I don’t really kiss on the first date. Sorry.” You muttered, stepping back just enough and extending your hand out towards him for a handshake instead.
“Playing hard to get, are we?” He smirked, taking your hand within his own and shaking it, “I do like a challenge.” He smiled teasingly at you, leaning down to press a kiss over the back of your hand.
Your eye only twitched in response and you pulled your hand away quickly. Ignoring him, you turned away. Phone buzzing in your hand just as your ride arrived. You gave your date a small wave as you opened the backseat to the rideshare and got inside. Not bothering to look to see if he was waving back at all. You greeted the driver and heaved a sigh as you slumped back against the seat of the vehicle. Eyes closing for a long awaited moment of peace.
You felt safer in the car of a random stranger than you did at all in that restaurant. Your phone buzzed again and you didn’t even need to check the name of the contact messaging you to feel your shoulders loosen.
the thorn in my side <3 - 11:02PM:
How’d it go?
Hope this one was better?
You stared at the screen while the vehicle moved through the city. The hum of the car’s engine filled the space where conversation should have been. Thank fuck your driver wasn’t a yapper today.
Your reflection flickered faintly in the window when you looked outside. City lights and street lamps fragmented with motion. Traffic slowed around you. Headlights passing too close, then fading. The city continuing without pause. You sat there in the quiet stillness, feeling like you were only just catching up to yourself again.
A laugh escaped you before you could stop it. Short and exhausted. Somehow this man had known exactly when the date would be over. Exactly when you would be checking your phone. And exactly when you would need an out.
Your thumb hovered over the screen. You could already picture him waiting for your answer. Probably sprawled out on his couch. Probably pretending not to care while checking his phone every five minutes anyway.
The thought made your chest ache in a way you didn't anticipate. But who were you kidding? No matter how hard you tried to move forward, your ex was always there. Choosing not to stand in your way. But to be waiting patiently at the finish line.
You looked back down at the messages.
Hope this one was better?
You thought about the date. About the endless talking. The fake laughs. The forced smiles. The way you had spent half the evening wishing you were literally anywhere else.
Then you thought about your ex. About the way he would always notice immediately that something was off. The way he could ask one question and somehow pull the truth out of you before you even realized you were telling it. The way he listened.
The answer to his text was embarrassingly obvious. The date had never stood a chance. The guy wasn’t terrible. You’ve been out with worse. It was just that somewhere along the way, you had gotten used to being known. And now every conversation felt a little emptier when it wasn't with him.
A humorless smile pulled at your lips. Then you typed:
I would like to disappear... Immediately.
Three dots appeared way too quickly. Then another message popped up:
the thorn in my side <3 - 11:05PM:
Come over.
No question mark. Certainty. That was just Jeon Jeongguk’s thing.
You didn’t think about it. Leaning over towards the driver apologetically and asking him to change the location he was heading in. He didn’t mind. It wasn’t a huge change. You and Jeongguk lived close to each other. And so, you went.
His place was warm when you got there. Not temperature wise. You couldn’t even tell anymore. It was more in the way the light spilled out from inside like it had been waiting for you. Welcoming and familiar.
You knocked once against apartment number 0613 and the door opened instantly.
Jeongguk stood there in a plain black longsleeve, sleeves pushed slightly up along his forearms like he had been in the middle of doing something before you arrived. The front of his shirt was a bit wet. A splotch of wetness right in the middle of his abdomen. You knew him well enough to guess he had been washing dishes.
His eyes trailed over you in one clean sweep. That dress. It was a simple outfit. Black silk dress that caught the light every time you moved. Falling cleanly against your frame without needing anything extra. Your hair was down, cascading over your shoulders and down your back. Softening the sharp edge of the smoky makeup around your eyes.
It wasn't just the dress or the hair or the makeup though. It was the way you carried yourself. The quiet confidence. The ease. The way you seemed completely unaware of the effect you had on anyone.
Jeongguk’s gaze lingered a second too long before he looked away. Then he looked back at you again because somehow every time he thought he had gotten used to you, you managed to surprise him again.
You had been together for years. He knew every expression, every habit, every version of you. And yet, moments like this caught him off guard. As if he was seeing you for the first time all over again.
The corner of his mouth twitched into a smile he tried… and failed to hide.
"Wow." Was all he managed to say. Not because he didn't have more to say but more because suddenly no words seemed enough. He didn’t comment on the way you looked further. Instead, he stepped aside and said, “Come on in.”
And you did exactly that.
You felt Jeongguk’s eyes on your back as you entered. And the second you walked past him, the scent of your perfume wrapped around him. It was familiar enough to make his jaw clench.
You kicked off your heels near the door, completely missing the way his gaze followed the movement. Or maybe you didn’t miss it. Maybe you just chose not to acknowledge it.
The silk black dress clung to your every curve as you moved through the apartment, catching against your figure with every step. Your hair swished with your every move. Jeongguk’s longing gaze followed after you. Eyes on your back. Trailing down to the small of your waist and curve of your ass. He reminisced about the days where he got to hold you there. To touch you there.
It was already killing him.
This was exactly why having you here was a terrible idea. Even if it was his own stupidly sick idea. You looked like the kind of mistake Jeongguk never learned from. The kind of mistake he would make over and over again without hesitation. And the kicker was that you had no idea what you were doing to him. Or maybe you did.
The moment the door clicked shut behind you, something in your chest unclenched with relief. The feeling that spread over you was too comfortable. Instinctive. Homely. And that was exactly the issue because this was the last place you should have been.
You knew that.
Knew it every single time your hand hovered over his contact. Every time you found yourself typing a message before you could talk yourself out of it. Every time your feet somehow carried you back to his door.
Jeongguk was your ex. And you had broken up with him for a reason.
Not because you didn't love him. That had been the worst part. You loved him too much. Still did. You loved him enough that leaving had felt like ripping something out of yourself. But loving Jeongguk had eventually started feeling like carrying something fragile between both your hands all the time.
His jealousy had seeped into everything.
First it was the questions. Where did you go? Then the tension. With who? Then the way his mood would shift whenever another man's name came up. Just a coworker, huh? The way he would insist he was fine when he clearly wasn't. I ain’t mad.
And then it was the way you slowly started measuring your words before speaking them.
His possessiveness drowned you.
You started anticipating reactions. Started managing feelings that weren't yours to manage. He started acting like he owned you. Like you were branded with his name on your skin as if you were some sort of prized cattle. It was sickening. He was sickening.
There were too many instances for you to point at one moment and say there.
It was constant. Suffocating.
And so fucking addicting.
Addicting because nobody had ever looked at you the way Jeongguk did. As though you were the only thing in the room worth seeing. Addicting because every fight ended with him pulling you back in. His voice softer, his hands gentler. Making you forget why you were angry in the first place.
Addicting because he knew exactly where your cracks were and exactly how to fill them.
It wasn’t that Jeongguk was easy.
He was never easy.
Jeongguk had always been the kind of person who took up more space than he was supposed to. In rooms. In silence. In your head. He asked questions he already knew the answer to just to hear you say them out loud. He noticed things you didn’t even realize you were hiding. He remembered everything. Down to the smallest details you wished he would forget.
And he never did what you expected.
That was one of the terrible parts of being entangled with Jeongguk. How consistently he refused to fit into any version of him you tried to prepare for.
When you expected distance, he closed it.
When you expected anger, he went quiet instead. Watching you like he was choosing his next move rather than reacting to yours.
When you expected him to let you go, he tightened his grip on the situation without ever actually touching you. As though he didn’t need to physically hold you in order to keep you exactly where you were.
Even the smallest things were wrong in a way that felt deliberate. If you thought he would ignore you, he showed up. If you thought he would push, he pulled back just enough to make you step forward on your own. If you thought he would be soft, he turned unreadable as if he was protecting something you couldn’t see yet.
It made you feel constantly off balance around him. As though you were always reacting a second too late to a game you didn’t remember agreeing to play. And the strange part was that it never felt random.
It felt… calculated. Not in a cold way, but in the way that suggested he was always paying attention. Always adjusting. As if he was reading you as you moved. Anticipating you before you even fully understood yourself.
That was what made it impossible to fully detach from him.
People were supposed to be predictable in some way. Even the complicated ones eventually formed patterns you could map out. Jeongguk didn’t. Or maybe he did but only for you, only when you started thinking you had finally figured him out.
The moment you settled into certainty, he switched up again.
And it left you stuck in this frustrating cycle where nothing stayed stable long enough to become safe. Not his anger. Not his affection. Not even his absence because even when Jeongguk wasn’t there, it felt like he still was. As if he had just stepped out of frame rather than out of your life.
You would catch yourself trying to predict him anyway, every time.
What he would say. What he would do. Whether he would finally act like someone who was supposed to be in love with you. But every single time, he proved you wrong in a way that felt personal. It was like he knew exactly which version of him you were bracing for and deliberately chose another.
He could be obsessive in a way that should have pushed you away completely. The late night calls that came even when you didn’t answer your phone. The way he would show up “coincidentally” at places you mentioned days ago. As if the world was just a map he could redraw to find you on it. The way he would look at you like you were a type of drug he couldn’t put down, even when you were trying to leave his orbit.
It should have felt infuriating. Sometimes it was.
Yet there was something about the way he paid attention that made everything else feel dull in comparison. As if no one else had ever really seen you until he did. Even if the way he saw you came with weight. With pressure. With the constant awareness that you were never entirely out of his thoughts, even when you weren't with him.
Jeongguk was infuriating in the way he never fully let you go. Even when you weren’t together. As though distance was just a temporary inconvenience rather than an ending.
And maybe that was what you hated admitting most. With Jeongguk, nothing ever felt halfway. When he was in your life, he was in it. When he was gone, he wasn’t really gone but just waiting at the edges of it. Like a shadow that knew exactly when you would turn around.
Other people were simpler. Safer. Easier to understand.
But they didn’t make you feel like this.
Didn’t make you hyper aware of every heartbeat, every glance, every decision that somehow always circled back to him.
Jeongguk truly was the thorn in your side. He annoyed you. He overwhelmed you. He crossed lines you pretended not to redraw for him over and over again.
And yet…
There was always that moment. That crack in your resolve. Usually late at night. Usually when you were alone. When your phone felt too quiet and your thoughts got too loud. When you could almost convince yourself you were done.
And then you would remember the way he would say your name like it mattered more than anything else in the room. The way that every time he touched you, it felt as though he was igniting a fire in the coldest part of your heart. The way he would be in your ear whispering all the things he knew to say to make your legs spread wider and your back arch higher.
And suddenly “done” stopped feeling real because Jeongguk wasn’t something you got over.
He was something you returned to.
Every fucking time.
For every moment he made you feel trapped, there was another where he made you feel chosen. For every time you thought you had enough, he would give you just enough of himself to make you stay.
Jeongguk had cast a magical spell over you that enchanted you. He treated you too well. Fucked you even better. He was a good lover. The perfect lover despite these flaws. He was consumed by you. Gave you anything you wanted and more. You were happy with him. You saw well into your future with him.
So, when he got like that. When he would grab your phone and check every text message, app and everything in between when you weren’t looking. When he would purposely hover around your conversations when you hung out with his friends. When he would start arguments with you because someone barely glanced your way. You tolerated it. You would diffuse the situation and calm him down because you loved him. You wanted him.
People always said you two would last until the end of time. But nobody saw what happened behind closed doors. Nobody saw the way Jeongguk doubted himself. The way he would search your face after every argument like he was already bracing for you to leave. The way he would ask questions he already knew the answers to.
You still love me, right? You're not bored of me? You're not talking to someone else?
It didn't matter how many times you reassured him. It never lasted. The problem was never you. The problem was that somewhere along the way, Jeongguk became convinced he wasn't enough. No amount of love could fix that for him and it turned to an obsession.
So, he looked for proof. Proof that you still wanted him. Proof that you still chose him. Proof that he wasn't about to lose the best thing that had ever happened to him. And eventually, that fear started bleeding into everything.
Every late reply. Every canceled plan. Every male coworker. Every moment you wanted space.
What started as insecurity slowly became suspicion. Then possessiveness. Then control.
Until one day you realized you were spending more time convincing him you loved him than actually being loved. Eventually, you looked at the life you were building together and realized you couldn't keep living like that. That broke something inside you.
The hardest part was that you understood where it came from. You knew Jeongguk wasn't trying to hurt you. You knew every jealous question came from fear. Every accusation came from panic. Every possessive grip came from the terror of losing you. But understanding someone's pain doesn't make it hurt less when they hand it to you.
After years of carrying insecurities that never belonged to you, your shoulders finally gave out.
And then... you left.
It wasn’t pretty. It wasn't mutual. And sure as hell wasn’t easy either.
Somehow, despite all of it… despite the tears and the heartbreak. Despite the promises that distance was necessary… Jeongguk was still the person you wanted when things hurt.
That was the part you never understood. Not why you missed him. But why you missed him like this. Why every disappointing date somehow ended with thoughts of him. Why every lonely night seemed to circle back to the same place. Why your mind wandered to him while you sat there listening to another scrub trying to convince you they were worth your time.
You always hoped he would text you. Always knew he would invite you over.
And you did the same thing every time. You came back every single time.
To this apartment. To this door. To Jeongguk.
You should have gone home. You should have learned how to sit with your own loneliness by now. Instead, you were standing in your ex boyfriend’s living room, already feeling your shoulders relax.
Already feeling safer.
And judging by the way Jeongguk was watching you from across the room, he knew it too.
Which only made standing here in this fuck ass apartment more dangerous.
He already had a bottle of wine open. And it was the good wine too. Jeongguk never bought the shitty booze. Not for you anyways. He knew what you wanted but asked anyway, “Want some wine?” and you mumbled a yes while you watched him pour the alcohol into the glass without asking how much you wanted. He already knew the answer.
Up to the top.
He knew you better than you wanted to admit.
Anyone could learn your favourite wine. Your coffee order. The movies you always watched because you enjoyed rewatching the same thing rather than starting something new.
Jeongguk knew the things that happened before those things.
The way your shoulders got tight when you were overwhelmed. How you would pretend you weren't hungry and then steal food off his plate twenty minutes later. Or the difference between your real smile and the one you used when you were trying to convince everyone, including yourself that you were fine.
It was years of accumulated knowledge. Thousands of tiny observations filed away and remembered whether you wanted him to remember them or not. And what annoyed you was that he never seemed to forget any of it.
He just fucking knew you. It was sickening. Just like he knew you would end up on the left side of the couch. Knew you would curl your legs underneath you after ten minutes. Knew you would complain about the date eventually even if you swore you weren't going to talk about it.
Sometimes it felt like Jeongguk had spent years studying you while everyone else was simply getting to know you.
And perhaps that was why moving on never worked the way it was supposed to because every new person felt like a stranger trying to read the first page of a book. While Jeongguk already knew every chapter. Every line. Every period, comma and everything in between.
Even though you wished he didn't.
You heard the distant melody of music playing. He always had some type of music playing. The quiet rhythm humming in the background of his apartment. Hard rock filling the apartment’s space and making you feel like you were right at home.
When your heels came off by the front door and you exhaled in satisfaction from it, Jeongguk watched you the entire time. Listening to the small, relieved noise you made should have meant nothing to him. Instead, it did things to him he didn’t have words for anymore.
The ache in your feet disappeared instantly. Almost feeling dizzying. Jeongguk glanced down at the pumps, then at your feet. Black polish on your toes. You still painted your nails his favourite colour.
Jeongguk still didn’t say anything but a small smirk lifted at the corner of his lips as he moved back to the kitchen and poured himself a glass of wine and turned from the kitchen to make his way into the living room and join you.
You didn’t notice the smirk otherwise you would have called him out for it. But you couldn’t be arsed anymore. Your energy from tonight was past the point of drained. You simply drifted your way to the couch and collapsed comfortably. Nestling against the cushions. “What a night.” You hummed to yourself, sinking into the familiar softness of Jeongguk’s sofa the way you did every damn time.
It took nothing to have your eyes on Jeongguk as he stood in the kitchen. It was normal for you. Normal for your eyes to land on him and drink him up like the fine shit he was. Normal for your stomach to clench at the sight of him. For your mouth to water slightly as your attention centered onto him.
Your gaze trailed from the grey sweatpants hanging low on his hips. Baggy but still allowing for your eyes to catch a glance of muscular thighs hiding under the fabric.
Your focus wandered more. Not intentionally. It was simply second nature to check him out.
Your eyes just gravitated towards him even if you didn’t want to. Your gaze landing on the outline of something in those grey sweats that always knew how to make your back arch just right. You forced yourself to look away. To move your attention somewhere else. And your eyes traced upwards now. Landing on the loose black shirt he was wearing.
The dim lights of the kitchen ceiling shadowed over his broad chest and outlined his pecs a little too perfectly. The shirt sleeves were still rolled up to his elbows. Exposing a sleeve of tattooed skin that curved in beautiful designs. Complimenting the black nail polish that was already chipped and picked at over his fingernails.
He still had the tattoos he got for you on his arm too. Yes, tattoos - plural. They were always something simple. Small. Hidden between the dark etching that surrounded beautiful artwork. But he showed them off no matter what because they were the proudest piece of art he had ever gotten. He would probably never get them covered up.
You didn’t mind. Not one bit.
And then finally your attention landed on his face now. Lidded stare on the angle of his jaw. The pretty dots on his crystal clear skin. The length of his nose. The nose you used to sit on. Your thighs closed instinctively together. Forcing you to inhale a sharp breath. Yet you still kept looking. Watching. Waiting.
Your focus outlined a pair of cherry red lips and the two silver rings sitting snug at the corner of them. The new labret sitting pretty under his lower lip too. Dark eyebrows. Even darker hair with a fresh under cut. Fringe cascading over his forehead to hide an eyebrow piercing you loved a bit too much. Everything about his features moulded perfectly with lightly tanned skin.
He was so fucking pretty. Why did he have to be absolutely insufferable?
The funny thing was that Jeongguk was never supposed to be your type.
At least, that's what everyone thought.
The tattoos crawling up his arms and disappearing beneath the sleeves of his black shirts should have deterred you enough. The motorcycle parked outside his apartment definitely should have too. He carried himself with the kind of confidence that usually screamed trouble. All sharp smirks, leather jackets, and secrets he never quite shared.
There was always something ominous about him. Late night phone calls he would take out of earshot. The bruised knuckles he would brush off with a shrug. The way people seemed to know who he was before he even introduced himself. You never really knew what he did, and if you were being honest, you stopped caring long ago.
Years ago, you would have taken one look at him and walked the other way. And the way you met Jeongguk was completely by accident too.
Or maybe fate just had a fucked up sense of humor.
It was raining that night when you met. The kind of rain that soaked through clothes within seconds and turned city streets into mirrors of fading lights. You were new to the neighbourhood and had been stranded outside a convenience store after your phone died. Debating whether to make a run for it or wait for the storm to pass.
Then a motorcycle pulled up.
You remembered the way your stomach tightened from terror. Being stranded outside and now a stranger on a black motorcycle pulls up in the dead of night? Only you would land yourself in this position.
He was wearing a black helmet. Black jacket. Tattoos were peeking from beneath the sleeves on rain soaked skin. The engine hadn't even stopped rumbling before you had already decided he was exactly the kind of man you were supposed to avoid.
A few minutes later, he was standing beside you beneath the awning of the store. Holding out a portable charger he had bought from inside, "For the record, I just came here to grab cigarettes." He had said after catching your suspicious look. As if he thought you assumed he was coming to kidnap you.
Those were his first words to you and even after all this time, you still remembered them.
You had almost refused to take the charger. Instead, you spent the next twenty minutes talking to him while your phone charged. You talked about everything and nothing. The weather. Your terrible sense of direction. His habit of smoking too much.
By the time the rain stopped, you learned that his name was Jeon Jeongguk and he happened to live not too far away from your own apartment. And when he dug out the helmet for a passenger from his motorcycle and offered to take you home, you had already forgotten all the reasons you were supposed to say no.
Looking back, maybe that should have been your first warning. And you didn’t mean the tattoos. Or the motorcycle. Or the fact that you never really understood what he did for a living. The real warning should have been how easy it was to fall for him. How within a single rainy evening, he made a stranger feel safe enough to trust him.
The more you got to know each other. The harder you fell. And somewhere between the teasing grin he reserved only for you or the way he stopped to help strangers without expecting anything in return. Every assumption you had ever made about him unraveled. Beneath the ink, the piercings, and the intimidating exterior lived the softest heart you had ever known.
The man who remembered how much you loved the Twilight movies and would sit there on the couch for 10 hours at a time just to watch them all with you. The man who tucked your cold hands into his pockets during winter. The man who always made sure you got home safe.
Maybe there were parts of Jeongguk that belonged to the shadows. Parts he would never let you see. But he never made you feel afraid. If anything, he made you feel protected as though nothing in the world could touch you as long as he was standing next to you.
Jeongguk looked like the kind of man mothers warned their daughters about. In reality, he was the kind of man who brought flowers home to you just because he had walked past a shop and thought of you.
You blinked, forcing yourself back to the present. Back to reality. Back to the fact that you were sitting in Jeongguk's apartment… With Jeongguk.
No matter how much time passed. No matter how many times you convinced yourself you were done, neither of you ever seemed capable of staying away for long. There had to be some invisible thread that remained tied between you, pulling whenever one of you wandered too far.
History was history for a reason. It wasn't meant to be relived.
Yet every time you found yourself around him, those carefully built walls started to crack.
Your eyes trailed back to Jeongguk and could tell by the way he moved, he knew you were staring at him. Unhurried and so damn deliberate. As though suddenly he had all the time in the world.
He lingered by the kitchen counter long after he had poured the wine. Adjusted things that didn't need adjusting. Opened the fridge only to close it again. Took his time with every movement like the night wasn't going anywhere.
And just as you thought, he oh so casually remembered the wine bottle and turned back toward the kitchen counter to grab it, shoulders and back muscles rolling beneath the black fabric of his shirt as he tucked the bottle under his arm. Giving you the perfect look of his wide back and all of those muscles.
Jeongguk didn’t rush. It wasn’t in him to ever rush. Especially when it came to you. He let you see what you wanted. Pretending he hadn't caught you staring from the second you walked through the door.
He wouldn’t lie and say that his mouth didn’t twitch slightly at the thought of you staring. But he didn’t crack a smile either. He wasn't calling you out. Wasn't making it easier. If anything, he seemed content to let you keep looking. Content to stand there and let your eyes wander over details you had spent ages trying not to remember.
The piercings. The tattoos. The nail polish. The sharp line of his jaw.
The smile you used to kiss.
Maybe you were imagining it. Maybe you weren't. But it felt suspiciously like he was giving you the opportunity. As if he knew exactly what you were doing and didn't mind in the slightest. As if after all these years, being looked at by you was still one of his favourite things.
Coming here was such a bad fucking idea.
He handed you the glass when he finally joined you in the living room and your fingers brushed his for half a second. You both pretended not to notice but neither of you rushed to pull away too quickly either.
The silence that followed wasn’t empty. It never was with Jeongguk. It felt like something unspoken had taken up residence between you. Settling into the couch cushions. Into the space where normal conversations were supposed to go.
Jeongguk lowered himself onto the sofa beside you like he belonged there more than anywhere else in the world. Relaxed. Close enough that you felt the change in your bones. The shift in the air. The subtle pressure of him being too close and somehow still not close enough.
Then it hit you. His cologne. The scent crept in first. Slow yet knowing. It was almost as if your brain recognized it before you consciously did.
It was slightly smoky at the edges. With something clean underneath it that never quite faded no matter how close you got. There was a hint of wood. Birch, maybe? Sharp enough to keep it from being soft in any comforting way. And then, buried underneath everything else was that subtle sweetness that clung to Jeongguk specifically. As if it had given up trying to be separate from him.
It wasn’t just a scent. It had weight. As if it filled the space before he even moved, settling into the air around you and making everything feel closer than it actually was. It clung to fabric, to memory, to the inside of your thoughts in a way that was almost unfair. Infuriating in how it instantly bypassed every bit of restraint you were trying to hold onto.
Your chest tightened before your mind could even place the name of the cologne properly.
Oh, it was that one.
The one you had picked out years ago. Standing behind Jeongguk in a store like it was something silly and not the kind of decision that would somehow follow you into moments like this. He had sprayed it on in front of you for the first time like it was nothing. As though it didn’t mean anything at all and then he just… never stopped wearing it.
Even now.
You swallowed, staring down at your wine glass in your hands a little too intently, “You still wear that cologne I picked for you?” You asked quietly. As if you didn’t already know the answer.
Jeongguk glanced at you, one arm draping over the back of the couch, “Why wouldn’t I?” He was too confident in answering. Acting as if he wasn’t doing this shit on purpose at all.
Then he went quiet. Not in the way that meant he had run out of things to say because Jeongguk never really did that. It was more in a way that meant he decided to watch you instead.
His gaze was stuck on you. Heavy and unblinking in that infuriatingly calm way of his. He looked at you as if he had nowhere else to be and nothing else worth looking at. As if the conversation, the room, even the space between you both had all narrowed down to a single point he was fully invested in.
You could feel his eyes on you before you looked at him. That awareness crawling up your spine. The instinctive knowledge that you were being studied too closely to pretend otherwise. When you finally did glance over, Jeongguk didn’t look away.
His head was tilted slightly into the back of the couch, relaxed as if he wasn’t doing anything at all. But his eyes… Those eyes were different. Focused in a way that stripped the ease out of everything else about him. It was like he was watching for something small. A reaction. A slip. A crack. Something only Jeongguk would notice.
It wasn’t the kind of look that asked for permission. It was the kind that assumed Jeongguk already had it.
Jeongguk’s gaze flickered briefly to your lips. He traced the outline of them. Silently making note of the fact that your lipstick wasn’t smudged because smudged lipstick to him meant you kissed someone. Then his gaze went back to your eyes. It was so quick you almost convinced yourself you imagined it. Almost.
Your fingers tightened slightly around the stem of the glass, “That was a really long time ago.” You murmured, “Surprised you still wear it.” You nodded, taking a small sip out of your wine.
A faint hum left him. Expression unreadable. Then with his lips at the rim of his wine glass, he mumbled, “So?” Then took a sip of his wine.
The memories came back with the scent still lingering there. The memory of your hands fixing the collar of his shirt one night. The sound of his laugh when you told him he sprayed too much. And the way he leaned down towards you as if he already knew you would kiss him anyways.
You shifted slightly on the couch, forcing yourself to take a bigger sip of your wine. Forcing yourself to push the memories flooding your brain away.
“Does it still smell the same to you?” Jeongguk asked suddenly.
The strong taste of the wine coated your mouth, tongue and lips. And the sound of Jeongguk’s voice when he asked you that question made you freeze. Your lips still at the edge of your glass. Fingers tightening around the stem of the glass again because now he wasn’t talking about the cologne anymore.
You both knew it from the way the silence hung thick between the two of you. The question lingered. Even though it wasn’t difficult to answer. You couldn’t find the words to say a damn thing because neither of you trusted where the answer would lead.
That cologne bottle had started as a gift and somehow became a marker for an entire chapter of your lives. The scent hadn't changed but people were supposed to, right? Relationships were supposed to change, weren’t they? Time was supposed to make certain things fade.
Yet here you were, sitting in his apartment and recognizing the scent instantly.
Recognizing Jeongguk instantly.
As though your memory had never gotten the message that things were over.
What he really wanted to know wasn't whether the cologne smelled the same. It was whether it still meant the same thing. Whether hearing his voice still felt familiar. Whether being around him still unsettled you in all the ways it used to. Whether there were parts of the two of you that time hadn't managed to change.
And judging by the way neither of you could seem to look away from each other, the answer was a lot more complicated than either of you wanted it to be.
So, you stayed quiet. Your gaze dropping from Jeongguk’s own to the wine in your glass. The dark red liquid sloshed around slightly with the movement of your hand, but the room around you felt strangely calm.
Jeongguk didn't look away from you. He kept watching you intently. Eyes moving from the side of your face to drift down towards the glass in your hand. Watching the way your fingers gripped tighter around the stem.
He always did have a habit of asking questions that sounded simple on the surface and carried far more underneath.
The cologne wasn't really the point. You knew that. It was everything attached to it. It was the memories. The versions of yourselves that existed before things fell apart.
You finally lowered the glass and looked up at him once more, "That's not what you're asking me." Your voice was quiet when it came out. Wary. As though you were tired of dancing around the memories of him that plagued you.
A faint smile tugged at the corner of Jeongguk’s lips. Making the piercings there glisten. He was so aware of what the hidden meaning of all his questions meant. Though he would never be direct about it, "No. It’s not." He admitted, an overly confident chuckle leaving his lips, “So,” Jeongguk said as he changed the topic and nestled himself comfortably into the other side of the couch but still had his body angled toward you slightly, “How bad was it?”
You let out a short laugh and took another sip out of your wine, then took a big gulp right after. Eyes rolling before you took yet another sip to prepare yourself to explain just how bad the date really was. That alone was enough of an answer for Jeongguk. You sighed, shaking your head,
“It was pretty fucking bad.” You confirmed. And that opened the floodgates. At first it was controlled, tidy complaints. Careful wording as if your date was still sitting here at the restaurant with you. Then you realized who you actually were with. You could be honest with Jeongguk. Could talk shit with him and not have to worry, “Dude pretty much talked about himself like he was giving me a fucking TED Talk.”
Jeongguk blew out a breath, “Guessing that was another finance bro, huh?” He asked, already knowing the answer, “Did he even try to get to know you?” He hummed out, lips taking a small sip from his wine.
You were hunting through your purse for your vape. Digging the device out from a pocket with a sigh before placing your lips at the end of it as you tossed your purse onto the coffee table, “He did but…” You took a pause and sucked at the end of your vape, letting the nicotine smoke inhale straight into your lungs before blowing out and speaking again, “I don’t think he was even listening. It was like he was just asking because he had to.”
“Sounds about right.” Jeongguk muttered, hand outstretched for your vape, “I bet he talked about a promotion coming his way.” He hummed all too knowing as you handed the vape to him. He placed it at his lips and eyed you as he pulled the smoke into his mouth, “Probably hinted about his dick size too, huh?” He let out the smoke, lips back at the vape to inhale from it once more before handing it back to you.
You watched the way Jeongguk smoked from your vape and it reminded you of all the times you both would do that. Would share a smoke together. Usually at the end of the night after a good day together. God, you missed that.
There was no use in reminiscing about the good ol’ days. So, you sighed under your breath and took the vape back from Jeongguk, “Damn right he did.” You grumbled, “Not like I was going to sleep with him anyways.” You chuckled, “He also tried to go in for a kiss when he hugged me. Gross.” You visibly shivered, legs curling under you on the couch now that you felt more relaxed.
First fuck up. Jeongguk shouldn’t have asked. He was already imagining you kissing this dude-bro… whoever the hell he was. He stewed a bit as he thought. Stewed even more when he pictured you and your date in bed. Would he know where to kiss to make you say his name the way Jeongguk did? Would he know where to touch to make you squirm and ask for more the way Jeongguk could?
He was trying to be better. Trying to let you go. Trying to move on. But how could he when you both always ended up here anyway? At least he didn’t crush the wine glass in his hands this time.
That was progress…? He thought.
And his second fuck up? Sitting too close to you. It was like he didn’t already know what kind of effect you had on him when there was no space left to hide in. It was like he didn’t know that conversations always slipped when it was just the two of you, always tilted into something heavier than they meant to be,
“Then what happened next?” Jeongguk pressed, leaning back slightly like he had all the time in the world. And as if he wasn’t already enjoying the answers you had been telling him.
You exhaled through your nose, staring at the floor for a second too long, “He talked about himself the entire night. And then…” You paused, shaking your head, “He kept checking his phone like I was just… a filler until something better came along.”
Jeongguk laughed sharply. A quiet and almost disbelieving chuckle leaving his lips as though he was offended on your behalf, “That’s it?” He said while shaking his head, “That’s what you let yourself sit through?”
He was already shaking his head because he genuinely couldn't understand it. Couldn't understand how someone could have you sitting across from them and still be distracted by anything else. How they could look away. How they could miss things.
You have never been background noise to Jeongguk. Never.
He knew when something was wrong with you before you admitted it. Knew when your smile wasn't real. Knew the difference between your tired voice and your upset one. Knew when you were pretending not to care about something because you didn't want to talk about it.
Half the time he could tell what kind of day you had from the way you walked into a room.
It wasn’t because he was trying to analyze you but more because paying attention to you was as natural as breathing. It always had been.
Jeongguk could feel his jaw clenching. Lips pressing together and then his tongue poking into his inner cheek as he thought before breathing out with a sigh, "The phone thing is insane."
You laughed quietly, fiddling with your vape and looking anywhere but at Jeongguk as you murmured, "It wasn't that serious."
"Yes, it was."
The way he said it made you finally look up. Jeongguk didn't look amused anymore. He looked certain. As if the answer was as clear as day. As if this was one of those things he refused to let you minimize.
"It’s not like I stayed for hours," You added while trying to brush it off, “I don’t know. I thought maybe it would get better.”
That made something flicker across his expression. It wasn’t necessarily anger. But more of a spark of absolute disbelief. As though the idea of you waiting for someone to get better at treating you felt fundamentally wrong to him, “You shouldn’t have to wait for that.” He nodded, downing the bit of wine left in his glass before reaching for the bottle to pour himself another drink.
Your gaze dropped and you licked over your lips. Wetting them because suddenly your mouth had felt dry. You knew Jeongguk was right. Which made your point harder to defend.
Jeongguk leaned forward a bit after he poured his drink, eyes still locked on you like he couldn’t help it even if he tried, “If someone’s sitting across from you,” He continued with a steady voice, leaning in closer, “They should be looking at you. Like the way I’m doing right now. That’s the bare minimum. ” Then under his breath the next words slipped out before he could stop it, “You don’t deserve to be ignored.”
The words bounced off the very core of your heart. Making your heart rate surge. You knew his reaction wasn’t about the date. It was about the fact that Jeongguk couldn’t imagine not seeing you. Not noticing you. Not listening. The idea that someone else could sit where he was sitting right now and treat you like you were optional. It just didn’t sit right with him at all.
“Right.” Your voice came out in a hushed whisper and your attention strayed to the coffee table and noticed Jeongguk’s phone lying there. When you were with him, his phone was always forgotten. Face down somewhere on the table. Just like it was right now. It wasn’t done with intention. He just didn’t care about it.
There had never been a notification, text, email, or conversation more interesting than watching you think. Than listening to you talk. Than noticing the hundreds of little things everyone else seemed to miss.
"You let people get away with way too much." He said finally, leaning back as he took a swig from his glass.
You looked down into your wine and Jeongguk's gaze softened slightly. Underneath the irritation was something else. Perhaps it was the certainty that you deserved to be known. To be listened to. To be looked at like you mattered.
Jeongguk had spent years doing exactly that. Years memorizing you. Years paying attention. Years making you the first thing he noticed when you walked into a room. Hearing that another man had treated you like an afterthought felt absurd to him. Almost insulting. As if the world had somehow forgotten something that seemed painfully obvious to Jeongguk every single day.
Your eyes trailed over to him and you deadpanned, “Not true.”
“Kind of is.” Jeongguk corrected too quickly. Then his voice softened a bit while still carrying that edge it always had to it, “You know you deserve better than that.”
The words hit differently coming from him. They didn’t sound gentle. And they were far from comforting too. It was more along the lines of it being a fact that you hadn’t already accepted.
You looked away quickly and muttered, “Yeah… well.”
Jeongguk shifted closer and you found yourself holding your breath already, “You know I would never do that to you.” He said it like it was obvious. As if it had always been obvious. He was directly beside you now. One arm resting behind the headrest of the couch, the tips of his fingers barely a touch over your bare shoulder.
You felt his fingertips ghosting over your skin and your breath caught before you could stop it. You pretended to stay composed. Fingers flicking over a tiny speck of lint on the front of your dress before you downed the rest of your wine in response.
You would rather drown yourself in the red liquor than admit he was right.
Jeongguk never made you feel like a filler. Never made you feel like you were waiting for something better. If anything, it was the opposite. With him, you were always the point. The center. The thing everything else circled around. Whether you wanted it to or not.
You didn’t answer him. That was a safer route for you. Don’t answer. Don’t react. Don’t feel.
Don’t. Don’t. Don’t.
Too late, girl.
Jeongguk knew what your silence meant anyway. That tiny hesitation. That split second moment where you didn’t agree nor disagree. It was enough for him. And a knowing smile tugged at his mouth from that,
“You don’t need to answer that.” He murmured, licking over his lips as he leaned his head back to rest against the couch again, “Silence speaks, you know.” He watched you intently, gaze trailing from the front of your dress down to the way it hugged nice and snug around your waist.
You could feel him undressing you with his stare and you quickly inhaled a shaky breath as you reached for the bottle of wine on top of the coffee table to refill your glass. You took a long drink out of the glass and turned your gaze away to stare at nothing in particular, “Don’t start with your shit, Jeongguk” You breathed out, immediately reaching for your vape to inhale it.
“Why not?” He asked as if he were genuinely curious. His gaze didn’t move from your face, “You’re already halfway there.”
“I’m not anywhere.” You answered quickly, sharper than you meant it to be. Smoke blowing out of your nose at the same time, “Not even close.” Your voice faltered at the last part and you felt so stupid because you knew how ridiculous you sounded. You weren’t a very convincing liar when it came to Jeongguk.
That only made Jeongguk lean in more because he knew what he was doing. You knew what you were doing too. Knew you were fucking doomed from this point forward.
“You are.” He countered softly, “You just don’t like what it means.”
Your pulse ticked harder. It felt difficult to swallow and you tossed your vape onto the table. Leaning away from the heat radiating from this insufferable ass man at your side to tilt your head and shake your hair away from the back of your neck because all of a sudden, you felt a bit too warm. It was summer. Jeongguk had the aircon running. Yet, you still felt too hot.
Jeongguk didn’t touch you any further. He didn’t have to. He just stayed there. Letting his fingers brush over your shoulder absentmindedly. Too close. Too calm. As though he was waiting for your resolve to crack on its own,
“I can fix this.” He added quietly after a moment, “Whatever this is between us. I can fix it. Just stop going out with people who don’t even look at you properly and come back to me.”
That did it. Something in you tightened. It wasn’t anger exactly. Nor was it a relief either. It was something more dangerous in between. Something you knew you wouldn’t be able to recover from if he inched even half a bit closer.
“Oh, so now you wanna turn this all around and fix things?” You asked, voice low. You turned to look at Jeongguk and let him swallow you with his stare, “Who gave you the right to decide that?” You pressed further, feeling an irritation flare right in the middle of your chest. It wasn’t irritation from what he was saying. It was irritation from how bad you fucking wanted to agree with him.
You were past the point of return now. Whatever happened after this, happened. Fuck it. You can handle the regret in the morning. Right now, you burned with the desire to have him even while actively pushing him away.
As bad as this was. As fucked up as your dynamic was. It was true.
He was all you wanted from the second you walked through the door.
Jeongguk’s eyes flickered down towards your lips just for a second. Then he smiled knowingly. Those stupid piercings glittering as his smile stretched wider. As if he had been waiting for that resistance, “I’m not deciding it.” He said simply, “I’m just telling you what you already know.”
You pressed your lips together and chewed at the inside of your cheek. You wanted so much. Wanted him back. Wanted that connection that you could never find anywhere else. Wanted to stop going on these useless dates as if you had something to prove.
That was what was so fucking stupid about you and Jeongguk. There wasn’t any confusion.
And not a single doubt. You did want to come back.
You wanted and wanted and wanted.
Jeongguk still needed to learn and so, you didn’t crumble. You kept your willpower and straightened your back slightly, forcing space back between you even if it didn’t fix anything, “Wanting me back isn’t the same as knowing how to keep me.” You whispered.
A notification lit up your phone right at that moment. You reached towards the coffee table and grabbed your phone. Jeongguk tracked your movements with dark eyes. You ignored him completely as you picked up your phone and unlocked it.
The screen brightened against the dim lighting of the apartment and your eyes immediately dropped to it. A text message. Then another right underneath it. You couldn't help it. A small smile tugged at your mouth as you skimmed through the newest notification.
The conversation wasn't even that interesting however, it was enough to make you huff out a quiet laugh. Enough to pull your attention away for a few seconds. Enough for Jeongguk to notice.
From beside you, his gaze flickered toward the screen before returning to your face. Watching you. Watching the way your expression changed. Watching the way your attention shifted somewhere that wasn't him.
The apartment filled with another sharp ping from your phone. A muscle moved in Jeongguk's jaw and before he could think, he spat out, "Put your phone on vibrate." The words didn’t sound harsh. Yet it sounded like a strict command. As if he already decided it was happening.
You looked up from your phone and made a face at him with your eyebrow raised, “Excuse me?” The look you gave him was somewhere between disbelief and irritation. Scratch that. Mostly irritation. You stared at him for a long second, waiting for him to realize how ridiculous he sounded.
He didn't. If anything, he looked more convinced by the second.
Your head tilted slightly as you studied him, “Are you fucking serious right now?” The question came out flatter than you wished because it reminded you of every argument you had ever had with him. Every moment where he would become completely unreasonable and somehow still managed to act like he was the only sane person in the room.
Jeongguk wasn't even trying to hide it. There wasn't an ounce of shame on his face. He was just sitting there with that infuriatingly calm expression that always appeared whenever he had already made up his mind about something.
You let out a laugh and shook your head, “Unbelievable.”
Jeongguk remained exactly where he was completely unbothered.
This feeling was familiar. Painfully familiar. His certainty. His confidence. The straight up assumption that eventually you would roll your eyes and do what he asked anyway.
This was exactly why you had left him.
You hated the way he could be so thoughtful one minute and impossibly aggravating the next. The way he always seemed to think he had some claim on your attention. The way he looked at you now. As though the request made perfect sense and you were the dumb ass for questioning it.
You gestured vaguely toward him with your phone, “See? This.” A humorless laugh escaped your lips, “This is why I used to lose my fucking mind.”
The corner of Jeongguk's mouth twitched, the coy smile starting to raise at the corner of his lips looking very close to amusement, “What?” He asked as if he didn’t have a single fucking clue what you were talking about.
“Don’t act stupid, you fucking asshole.” You continued, “The fact that you're sitting there telling me to put my phone on vibrate because it's annoying you?” Your hand went up in the air. Fake irritation playing at your features because strangely… you weren’t that bothered at all.
Girl, stand the heck up! The angel on your shoulder shouted.
Fuck no. The demon on the other shouted back louder.
You stared at Jeongguk and waited for a rebuttal. Expecting at least a little self awareness. A little embarrassment. Maybe some shame. Anything!
Instead, he just looked back at you. Completely fucking shameless. He was leaning back against the couch, one arm stretched across the backrest. Looking completely relaxed. But those eyes of his could never lie. There was something possessive sitting underneath his calm expression. Something he had never been particularly good at hiding when it came to you. Just... unwilling to share your attention once he had it.
The realization should have made you punch him square in the face. Instead, heat crept into your chest. Snaking its way up to your cheeks and making you flush. You had seen this side of him before. The side that liked having your focus solely on him. The side that noticed when your focus went somewhere else. The side that would never admit how much he enjoyed being the center of your attention.
Another notification flashed across the phone screen. Your eyes dropped automatically. Before you could even read it properly, you felt the cold hard stare from a pair of dark eyes on you. Jeongguk watched you intently. Not saying anything. He was simply sitting patiently and waiting. Patient in a way that wasn't exactly patient at all.
When you glanced back up, his gaze didn’t move from you. Eyes lowered. Glowering. Smouldering. A faint hint of tension sitting behind it. His expression didn't change. He wasn't pretending not to care. Wasn't pretending not to notice.
He was pissed. You knew it. He was wondering who kept pulling your attention away while refusing to ask you directly. You knew some deeply unreasonable part of him hated that a glowing screen was getting more of your focus than he was.
And what was so fucked up on your part was that you liked it.
You shouldn't have. You absolutely shouldn't have.
Yet there was something about the way Jeongguk looked at you when that possessive streak surfaced. As if he couldn't quite help himself. That made it impossible not to notice.
Impossible not to feel.
You exhaled through your nose, finally switching your phone to vibrate. You tossed it to the side and it landed on the table beside your purse with a careless thud, “There.” you said, eyebrow raised as you looked at him, “Happy?” Your tone was sharp, but your eyes gave you away. They were bright with something that didn’t match the annoyance in your voice, “I can’t stand you.” Your words came out easier than it should have. Affectionate in the way only years of the same arguments could make it.
Jeongguk didn’t even blink, “Then leave.” His words were calm. Careless. As though he knew it wouldn’t change a damn thing.
You stared at him. A long beat of silence stretched between you both. Thin and charged with electricity in the worst possible way. Instead of moving. Instead of getting up. Instead of doing anything remotely reasonable… you stayed exactly where you were.
The truth sat right there between you both. Unspoken but obvious. Yes, you could leave. You always could. But you wouldn’t. And Jeongguk knew it.
For a moment, you didn’t have a retort. Didn’t have anything comical or sarcastic to say.
You stared at Jeongguk sitting there like he had said the words out of habit more than intention. As if saying “then leave” was something he threw out when he felt too much and didn’t know where else to put it. Your eyes stayed on him a second longer. Studying him now instead of reacting.
You knew him too well. Knew the last thing he wanted you to do tonight was walk out of this apartment without letting him touch you first. Knew that from the way his jaw had tightened right after he said those two words. The way his gaze hadn’t actually shifted off you. Even while he told you to go. The way his posture hadn’t opened up at all. Hadn’t made space for your absence, not even a little.
He didn’t look like someone offering you an exit. He looked like someone testing whether you would take it. And failing at it himself.
Your expression softened just slightly at the edges. A small smile curving at your lips as if you couldn’t help it even when you were annoyed, “Don’t say that.” You murmured. Your gaze didn’t leave his, “You don’t actually mean that.” You added like it was obvious.
You were so fucking right. So right it made Jeongguk change the subject once more. Just like he always did when reality was too much for him to face head on, “You still thinking about that date?” He asked next, voice casual in a way that didn’t match the sharpness of his eyes.
You laughed quietly, but it came out tired instead, “No.” You turned your gaze to look at Jeongguk and caught his sharp stare, “I wish I could forget.” Your voice dropped to a whisper and you let the comment hang thick in the air.
Jeongguk rubbed over his chin in thought as he watched you intently. You let your ex boyfriend eat you alive with just one stare. Consume you. And he wasn’t even aware he was doing it.
The room had gone quiet in that way it only ever did with him. The sound didn’t disappear. It just got swallowed. You could feel it sitting between you. Heavy and alive. Every breath you took seemed too loud in your own ears. Every small movement suddenly deliberate.
You were suddenly aware of the music still playing in the background. Aware of the drip, drip, drip coming from the faucet in the kitchen. It was as if your body had started paying attention to other things so that your mind could ignore the burning of desire starting to fester inside of you.
Your relationship together had never been easy. The two of you argued about everything. Big things. Small things. Things that didn't matter at all. You could turn a simple conversation into a twenty minute debate without even trying.
There were days when Jeongguk drove you absolutely insane and days when you were convinced you did the exact same thing to him. You swore at each other. Rolled your eyes. Hung up the phone only to call back ten minutes later because neither of you could stand leaving the conversation unfinished.
It should have exhausted you. Maybe it did. Somehow it never pushed either of you away for long. Underneath all the bickering was something neither of you ever managed to get rid of.
Familiarity. The kind built over years of knowing someone too well.
Jeongguk knew exactly which buttons to push because he had been the one accidentally discovering them for years. And you knew how to get under his skin just as easily.
Most people would have walked away from a dynamic like that. Yet the two of you kept finding your way back. Like magnets that spent all day fighting the pull only to end up snapping together again.
It wasn't healthy. It wasn't logical. It was frustrating as hell.
Yet every time you tried to imagine a life where Jeongguk wasn't there to annoy you, argue with you, challenge you, or make you laugh when you were trying not to… the picture never felt quite right.
For all the times you had told each other to leave, neither of you ever really meant it. And now… here you both were. Back to square fucking one.
Jeongguk still kept his fingers barely over your shoulder. Leaving a pulse of fire that lingered under his touch. He didn’t need to come any closer. He was already there. Everywhere in the space. In the air. In the way his presence made everything else feel slightly off balance. His gaze hadn’t left you for long enough that looking away first felt like losing something.
Was that the issue here? Yes. One of many.
You both knew where this was going. You just kept pretending you didn’t. Coming back to him was one thing. But sex with your ex? That was something entirely different. And right now? Getting back together wasn’t a blip on your radar. Sex with your ex, however… Now that was a thought gnawing at your very core.
Jeongguk’s voice came out lower than before, pulling you out of your straying thoughts, “We should probably stop drinking.” He nodded towards the near empty bottle of wine, “Before we do something you regret.” He placed his empty wine glass onto the table and hummed.
The suggestion should have made you laugh. Should have made you roll your eyes. Push him away, stand up. Anything normal. Instead, his words just made your pulse jump and your stomach do a complete flip inside of you. If only he knew how further from the truth he was.
Your fingers tightened around the glass without meaning to and then you finished the remainder of what wine was left inside, “Jeongguk, you know I’ve never regretted anything with you.” You admitted, placing the empty wine glass onto the table before turning your body to face him fully now.
Jeongguk didn’t respond right away even though he heard you loud and clear. His gaze dropped for a second when you faced him. Gaze landing on your hands. Watching the way your fingers fiddled with the ring around your thumb. Noting that small tell. That small movement. The one you did when you were waiting for him to tell you to just give in to him,
“You don’t want to say that.” He whispered, lidded gaze moving back then to your face.
“I think I do.” You said with confidence. You leaned back just enough to give yourself space to think, though it didn’t really help. Not when Jeongguk was right there in said space. Watching you like he always did when you stopped making sense to him, “You’re telling me what I don’t want.” You continued, voice steady, “You’re not listening to what I’m saying.”
Jeongguk’s movements were too controlled. As though he was physically forcing himself to slow whatever instinct had just flared up inside him. His thumb dragged once along his own palm, a small habit to control himself that he didn’t even seem aware of. Then he exhaled, his expression had changed to something more contained. Or controlled. Or even closer to restrained.
His focus dragged over your face like he was trying to steady himself on details instead of impulse. Gaze landing and sticking to your lips, your eyes, the way you were looking at him like you already knew the answer you wanted from him, “You’re just upset from the shitty date,” He nodded, “About tonight.”
“I’m not anything.” You shot back, “I’m not upset. I’m just… done pretending this shit between us is complicated.” You heaved a breath, “I’m tired of pretending being around you isn’t driving me fucking crazy.” You said with a defeated sigh, “Tired of pretending I don’t want you.”
Jeongguk’s jaw tightened slightly at that. The muscle flexing once like something inside him had pushed too far forward and he had to physically hold it back, “You think you’re being honest with me,” He said under his breath, “But you’re the one that’s not fucking thinking about what you’re actually saying.” Then his voice lowered to a mere whisper, “Don’t put that shit in my head.”
“You just said a few minutes ago that you can fix this now you’re back tracking?” You questioned him, “I’m telling you the truth and now you’re pulling back?” You made a ‘tch’ noise with your lips and nodded, “Right. I forgot. That’s what you do.” Your hand slapped over your forehead, “Silly me.”
“It’s not that.” Jeongguk was already struggling to take a breath, heat moving from the center of his chest and drifting down towards his stomach. Pooling in the deepest pit of him as he suffered trying to remain controlled, “I’m trying so fucking hard to keep it together. Can’t you see that?” He asked, dark eyes boring into your existence as he stared at you.
“What if I just don’t give a fuck anymore?!” You answered back, an edge of certainty in your voice as you met his eyes with your own lidded stare, “We both know what we want. It’s so obvious, it’s insane.” You shifted towards him. One half of you was testing to see if you were getting too close. While the better part of you simply could not care.
You watched Jeongguk’s demeanor start to fray. Watched the way his chest rose and fell with every labored breath he took. He was fighting against himself. Fighting between wanting to take you to the point of no return and wanting to shut it all down at the same time.
“You’re drunk.” Jeongguk spat out, “Just saying dumb shit.” He shook his head while everything in him had leaned forward at your answer and then forced itself not to move.
“No, I’m fucking not.” You retorted with equally the same attitude, “I had one drink.”
You weren’t drunk. You knew what you were saying. Knew what you were inching towards.
His eyes stayed on you. Steady now. Making it hard for you to take an even breath. He looked as if he was holding something back with both hands, teeth and sheer fucking will, “Ah, so you can decide when you’re done pretending but I can’t. Cool. Cool. Cool.” He added in a disbelieving tone, “You don’t even know what you fucking do to me. Sitting there playin’ on your phone knowing it’s gonna drive me nuts. Showing up in that dress. Looking the way you do. This is just all part of your show, huh?” His throat bobbed as he swallowed, “You’re just gonna regret everything tomorrow anyways so just shut the fuck up.”
Jeongguk was smart to end the drinking. He didn’t want you to do something you would hate yourself over tomorrow. As if you could ever regret anything when it came to Jeongguk. As if you both could want anything else that wasn’t each other.
He was quiet now. Calculating. Waiting. Waiting for your confirmation. Waiting for you to give him the go ahead. Waiting for you to give him just a sliver of reassurance that this wasn’t just another night with him you were going to outwardly say you didn’t want to happen when the next day came.
“Don’t you dare tell me about me.” You hissed out, “I just want to forget that date ever happened.” You exhaled, “Forget that all I wanted while sitting there was you but I fucking can’t because here I am again...” You shook your head, “With you.”
The air between you tilted. Subtle, but undeniable. Something that had been held back for too long finally started to slip.
You should have stopped it there. Jeongguk should have looked away. You should have stood up. Jeongguk should have moved back. Changed the subject again. Created distance. Done anything except stay exactly where you both were. Feeling the pull of each other like gravity you were so tired of fighting.
And in that stillness, everything got heavier. Now it wasn’t just tension. It was choice. You both knew you were running out of reasons not to cross the line you had been standing on for far too long.
Without thinking twice, Jeongguk shifted on the couch. Back pressing into the plush softness of the fabric as if he was already bracing himself to feel the impact of your touch. He knew it was over the minute you stepped through the door anyways. And he was fucking fed up of fighting whatever the hell you both were doing. There was no challenge left in his eyes now. No attempt to push you away just to see if you would come back. Only a silent invitation.
“You wanna forget that bad?” Jeongguk asked gruffly, an arm opening for you as he hummed out, “Come here then.” He commanded without missing a beat, “I’ll make you forget.”
He was depleted. Tired of pretending to act unaffected. Tired of pretending he didn't miss you. Tired of pretending he wanted anything other than this. Jeongguk had always been difficult to read when it mattered most. But right now, he was surrendering. Waving that imaginary white flag because he knew he had nowhere to hide anymore.
You simply stared at him for a moment. Watching the way his arm opened as if he was silently confessing to you how exhausted he was of this back and forth too. You blinked slowly and then moved again. Closer. Your knee bumping over his as your voice came out quietly, “How?” You asked mindlessly. And as if your mind was no longer in control of your body, you climbed straight into Jeongguk’s lap.
Instinct kicked in almost immediately and Jeongguk grabbed you by the hips. Pushing you down onto him as you straddled him, “I got ways.” He started to smirk. Strong arms sliding around your waist. Large, rough hands splayed over both of your asscheeks and giving the flesh a hard squeeze in the way that only he could do,
One touch. One squeeze. And you were already feeling the electricity buzzing through you. You fit into Jeongguk as if you were made to be held by him. Arms instantly looping around his neck and your fingers gripping over the plush couch behind him, “That hurt.” You whispered with a dazed wince, drunk off his touch already.
“Like you ever gave a shit about a little pain.” He grunted out and met your lips with his own without wasting anymore time. Unable to restrain himself any longer now. You both clashed together with force. Teeth hitting teeth. Foreheads bumping. He had a hand sliding up the middle of your back, fingers already on the zipper to the back of your dress.
You could taste the wine off his lips. The flavour of your vape he smoked. The hint of minty gum in between. And best of all, you could taste Jeongguk. This was all you wanted. All you craved. You moaned into the kiss, already letting out shameless noises because you couldn’t give a single fuck anymore. You kissed him back with the same force. Your lips moving against each other with passion and intent. Goosebumps trailed up your back when he grabbed the zipper to your dress and you wanted nothing more than to let him work you out of your clothes.
“Tell me you love me.” Jeongguk whispered into the kiss. Calloused palms from years of weight and strength training making his hands deliciously rough yet soft at the same time. His hands roamed over your body. One hand trailing from your ass to your thigh. Squeezing over your exposed skin. The other hand inching the zipper to your dress down just a bit. Making it loosen enough for the straps to the dress to fall off your shoulders. And then making you press down harder onto him. Making your core sit right over the tent pitching hard under those sinfully sexy grey sweats he was wearing.
You grabbed over Jeongguk’s shoulders to balance yourself when he pressed you down onto him, nails digging into the firm muscles there, “Hell no.” You grunted against his lips, your mouth pressing back against his fervently while your hips rocked over the hard length in his pants, “Never.” You ground yourself shamelessly over him. Feeling wetness start to pool right in the middle of your panties already.
“Never? Hmmm.” He whispered as you cupped his face within your hands as your lips moved, “We’ll about that.” Jeongguk hummed into the kiss. A cocky smile curving along his lips as if it were a challenge he was accepting.
You ignored him. Your lips moving against each other sloppily. Deepening. Tongues touching. Teeth trapping each other’s lower lips, piercings and all.
You felt over the rigid muscles of his jawline and cheekbones. Acknowledged in your head that they might have been your favourite thing about his face. Then you felt the piercings on his lips gliding over your own as you both kissed each other. And then decided maybe the piercings were your favourite instead.
The straps of your dress falling down gave Jeongguk the opportunity to break the kiss and press his face against your neck. He kissed the warmth of your skin. Inhaled the scent of your perfume on your neck. Barely catching the faint scent of a man’s cologne subtly there from when your date hugged you too. His teeth sunk lightly into the skin against your neck and he bit you lightly. Not hard but enough to hurt just a bit. As if it were his way to will the cologne smell away from you. As if it was his way to remind you that you could hug all the men you wanted but in the end, he never truly finished last.
Jeongguk pressed an almost apologetic kiss against the spot on your neck that he bit but you purred anyways. Your head only tilting back and giving him room to do more. With your simple movement, his lips trailed down to your collar. Heated kisses burning like hot coal as his lips moved downwards to your cleavage, “Missed this.” He murmured against your skin, tongue tracing the curve of your breasts that weren’t hidden by your dress, “Missed you.”
“You don’t have to miss anything anymore.” You whispered breathlessly, lidded eyes gluing to the gorgeous length of his nose as he pressed kisses against your chest, “I’m right here.” You confessed, “Want you so bad.” a soft purr left your lips while your fingers reached up to thread through Jeongguk’s hair. Even if it’s just for tonight. The afterthought lingered.
Jeongguk easily switched your positions now. So easily that you hardly noticed until your back was hitting the soft cushions of his couch. You laid down and your dick drunk gaze looked up and for a split second the ceiling lights blinded you until he became your shade. Hovering over you as he reached down to the hem of his shirt and pulled it upwards, hiking it off his body in one fluid motion and tossing it carelessly to the side.
You tried not to look when he peeled his shirt over his head. Tried being the key word. Your eyes betrayed you instantly. Tracing over ink stretched across warm skin. Broad shoulders. Defined muscles. Then you saw it. A dark bruise blooming along his ribs, angry shades of purple and blue spreading across tanned skin. It looked painful. Fresh, too.
For a second, the question sat on the tip of your tongue. What happened? But it never made it out. Bruises weren't unusual on Jeongguk. They never had been.
Throughout your relationship, he had always shown up with some new scrape across his knuckles. A cut above his brow. Or bruises he dismissed with a careless shrug and a muttered, "It's nothing."
So instead of asking, you looked away. Pretended not to notice. Pretended your stomach didn’t tighten at the sight of it.
Jeongguk caught your stare anyway. His eyes flickered down to the bruise before returning to yours. Neither of you said a word. And just like every other time, the subject was silently buried before it ever had the chance to surface,
“You don't need to worry about me." Jeongguk said flatly, fingers gripping at the hem of your dress.
You sighed, hands meeting his own to help him push your dress upwards, "You say that like I can help it."
A quiet laugh escaped Jeongguk’s lips. His gaze held yours for a second too long before he looked away, "We're not together anymore, remember?" He nodded, "You don't owe me that."
"And you think that changes anything?" You asked.
Maybe it should have. Maybe any sane person would have stopped caring the moment they sniffed out who Jeongguk really was. The moment they saw the kind of people he surrounded himself with. The kind of life that followed him wherever he went. But you never did. And you surely did not care right now either.
“You’re so damn fine.” Jeongguk whispered, distracting you from the bruise. Pulling you back into him easily like a moth to a flame. Muscles flexing without him even trying to as he gazed down at your body splayed under him, “So sexy.”
He gazed down at you in awe as if it were his very first time seeing you. Eyes on your face. Dazzled by the way your unique features shone even through your makeup. He rested his hands over your knees and took a moment to marvel some more at the sight of you before he slowly pushed your thighs apart. Making your dress hike all the way up to your hips.
Your eyes reluctantly moved from the bruise on his ribs and landed on the tattoo on Jeongguk’s chest that almost touched his neck instead. The intricate art stretched from his chest and shoulder only to wrap around his bicep and trail all the way down to his arm. Ending at his wrist. Only to start again on his fingers. More designs in dark ink spread out each length of his fingers.
You used to spend hours tracing the tattoos with your fingertips. Asking him about all the details. Why he got them. What was he thinking about when he was sitting in that tattoo chair. Every time you looked, there was something new. You could never get tired of admiring him.
You had your eyes on your initial tattooed onto his ring finger in particular as he eased your thighs apart. A delicious contrast to the tan of his skin. It was old but he kept getting it retouched every time it faded. An never dying ode to his love for you. And a permanent reminder on his body that you were his no matter what.
You decided to let the topic of the bruise go. You always did anyway. And Jeongguk was right. You weren’t together anymore. So, mind your business. You focused on just him instead.
That’s what you were here for after all, right?
You just wanted to forget that date, right?
“And you just keep getting hotter.” You whispered with pure honesty because you would never lie. You would never lie about what he did to you. As insane as it was to be like this with him. You could never fib about the pure desire pulsing through your veins.
Your legs spread on their own and you watched Jeongguk through a lidded gaze as he lowered himself down between them. Laying down on the couch as his lips pressed a feverish kiss against your inner thigh before he reached up with that same tattooed hand and pressed his palm over the front of your panties, feeling how achingly hot and wet your core was already, “Fuck, Ggukkie.” You breathed the nickname you reserved for him out shakily, hips lifting effortlessly when he began to pull your panties to the side.
“I know, my precious doll.” He purred the nickname out softly and you felt your heartbeat thump in your chest from it, “I know you want me to taste you so bad.” He hummed, “I won’t make you wait.” He husked, easily pushing your panties away to expose you to him before he leaned in without hesitation and pressed his face into you. He mouthed over you. Piercings, lips and his tongue mouthed right over where you throbbed the most before pressing wet, sloppy kisses over you.
You didn’t even get a chance to react to the nickname he saved specially for you because whatever he just did with his mouth made you jolt upwards against him. The shock of pleasure made you squeeze your eyes closed for a moment before they opened hazily and drifted down towards Jeongguk.
You slowly raised yourself up onto your elbows and reached down with one hand to pull your dress up higher so that you could see, “Oh.” You purred and rested your hand top of his head, fingers digging into his thick locks of hair, “Holy fuck.” You cursed, already breathing out heavily from feeling his tongue lapping at your sensitive flesh.
And that was all it took. Just hearing your response to him made something in the pit of Jeongguk’s soul snap.
He had a hand keeping your thigh pushed apart when your body involuntarily tried to close around his head then he whispered, “So wet.” with a nod of approval. Then his tongue started to trace circles around you again. That nose pressed against you as his tongue dipped lower to push into you, “You taste so good.” He moaned as he spoke as though the taste of you truly was the best thing he ever ate. Then groaned when you pulled on his hair.
Those lips and tongue kept working their magic on your body. Making you arch into him. Grinding over his face until you were asking him for more. And if more was what you wanted, what kind of man would Jeongguk be if he didn’t give it to you?
He kissed over the bud of flesh that made your thighs quake only to pull back for a second to suck over his finger. He glanced up at you and caught your eyes. The sheen of your wetness coated over his lips and chin but he uncaringly stared up at you anyhow.
Your gaze was stuck on his face then trailed to his black nail polished finger pressing into your entrance and starting to sink into you. You swore again and felt your toes curl, “Yes.” You breathed out with a nod as he pushed his finger into you more and then you watched the way his finger disappeared past your walls before you closed your eyes and relished in the feeling.
And just as you thought it couldn’t get any better, you felt the soft pair of lips pressing back against you again. Tongue flicking over those wonderful bundles of nerves while his finger moved. You felt the pleasure burst through your entire body. The feeling was indescribable.
You said Jeongguk’s name the way he liked to hear it. Used all the nicknames he loved to hear you say too. You moaned. Mewled and whined. Trying to bask in the moment and not suffocate him with your thighs. But you needed more. Needed to feel every inch of him in more ways than one.
You already couldn’t get enough and so, you exhaled sharply and found the words to say one single word, “Please.” You swallowed thickly and felt your jaw go slack, “Need more.” You begged shamelessly as specks of white already began clouding your vision because you were already at the edge.
“Yeah?” Jeongguk whispered gruffly as he forced himself to pull away, “I got you, baby.” He hummed out sweetly, his finger moving out of you only for him to suck over it as he leaned back up, “Tell me how much you want me.” He whispered as he pressed his lips against yours and kissed you breathlessly, making you taste yourself off his tongue, “C’mon. I wanna hear you say it.” He murmured into the kiss, his palms coming down to plant on either side of you on the couch to hold his weight up from crushing you completely, “Lemme hear you.” He smiled as he broke away from your lips, a hand already at the waistband of his sweats.
“Need you.” You whimpered into the kiss, licking into his mouth. Your hands gripped over his forearms, feeling over the veins on his skin as your nails scratched over him lightly, “Need you to fuck me.” You nodded, pulling away from those addicting lips to meet Jeongguk’s gaze, “Please.” Your grip over his forearms loosened and moved to trace over the width of his chest instead then trailed lower towards the set of abs on his stomach. Your fingers barely ghosted over the purple bruise on his ribs before they finally hooked over the waistband of his pants to tug on them.
“Mm.” Jeongguk grunted, “You fucking anyone else?” He asked you suddenly, inching the top of his sweats down just a bit for you to peek at that delicious v-line leading towards his pelvis.
“You fucking know I’m not.” You gritted your teeth with impatience, “Would I be here if I was?” You questioned him. Eyes unfocused but yet too entirely focused on the marvel of a man hovering over you. It was like you didn’t know where to look. Maybe the smooth of his chest? The dip of his abs? Or the faint trail of hair starting from the bottom of his stomach and disappearing into the top of his pants? You were too greedy to just pick one.
“Just wanted to know…” Jeongguk smiled a little too proudly. Asshole. He knew you weren’t sleeping with anyone else but loved hearing it anyways. With that confirmation, he decided not to tease you any further, “...because I’m gonna fuck you raw.” The tone of his voice was slick with lust and you swore your vision hazed from that alone, “Maybe finally put a baby in you too.” He nodded once, his pants lowering and his cock swinging out from his boxers. Heavy. Thick. And absolutely breathtaking. “Does that sound good?” He asked but you were too far gone to even tell him to stop playing with you.
Instead, you nodded and leaned back up on your elbows again, holding yourself upright but just barely. Staring up at him with needy eyes as you whispered, “Sounds good to me.” Your jaw clenched at the sight of his length. Monstrous. But you could take it. You always did. Very well too.
You entertained the nonsense Jeongguk was saying because the thought of him filling you up was everything you wanted and more. However, you couldn’t just submit that easily. You had to ragebait him somehow. And so, with a grin, you hummed out, “Then after me, you can go do the same to your other bitches.” You challenged.
You were trekking down a narrow road trying to challenge him but he loved it.
That comment fired him up at once and Jeongguk belted out a laugh. Head shaking to himself as he rolled his eyes, “You think I got bitches.” He continued to laugh but nothing about it sounded like he was entertained, “That’s cute.” He nodded, leaning down towards you as he grabbed your thigh and hiked it up to wrap around his waist while he pushed your other thigh apart, his cock pulsating and throbbing within his hand as he guided it towards where you needed him most, “Can’t fuck anyone else but you because no one takes me the way you do.” He whispered, face coming closer to yours that your lips brushed over each other’s when he spoke, “And that’s a fuckin’ fact.” He finally said and straightened up before he pushed into you.
Well. No words were needed to be said after that because your thoughts went poof the second he inched into you. He was gentle. He needed to be or he would have split you into two. Easing into you carefully and watching the way your brows furrowed when a quick second of pain shocked through you.
You let out a broken whimper from the sudden burst of pain and Jeongguk cooed out softly, “I know, babydoll. I’m sorry.” He whispered apologetically, “It’s only gonna hurt for a second, take a breath.” He instructed while a gentle hand rubbed over your thigh despite the fact that it felt like he was impaling you.
One thing about Jeongguk was that he never rushed through this part. He would rather wait in agony than make you feel any form of discomfort at all. And with a few deep, shaky breaths, you were smooth sailing next. Lips parting. Eyes rolling to a close while your palm that was once pressed into his stomach loosened and dropped when your upper body gave out. You laid down onto the couch and reached up with one hand, grabbing over the armrest behind you to hold on because you knew Jeongguk was about to drill you into this poor couch.
And that he did. Making careful thrusts at first. Heaving a breath. Teeth trapped over his lower lip. One hand resting over your knee that was hooked over his hip while his freehand grabbed the fabric of your dress bunched around your waist. He pulled on your dress and used it for momentum as his thrusts slowly but surely started to become harder.
“Shit.” You cursed, the sounds of your own wetness and his skin slapping against yours could probably make your ancestors roll over in their graves and say not this shit again. But Jeongguk didn’t stop. You begged him not to. Begged him to go deeper. Harder. More, more, more.
“Greedy.” He breathed out but rocked into you deeper anyways. Gyrating those hips each time until he leaned down towards your lips, his body pressing against yours, “You love me?” He asked you with that smug ass grin on his lips, “Tell me.” He encouraged you as he pounded into you. Beads of sweat already lining his hairline. “I’m waiting.” He teased out breathlessly, his forehead dipping to rest over your shoulder while your hands shakily reached to grip onto his shoulders.
You made the asshole wait just a bit longer and then came the, “I love you.” You purred the words into his ear, “That’s what you wanna hear, huh?” Your teeth trapped over his ear lobe. Teeth catching the one of several piercings on his ear as he made yet another hard thrust into you again. You bit back a moan from that and smiled, your voice dropping sweetly as you whispered again into his ear, “I love you, Jeongguk.” You moaned his name out, a hand pressing into the back of his sweaty neck, fingers burying into his hair to pull on the dark locks,
He didn’t say the words back. You didn’t care. Your body only chased after more.
“Does hearing that make you feel good?” You asked him breathlessly, eyes squeezing shut as you felt a strong hand hook under your knee to hike your leg over his shoulder, “Fuck, right there.” You gasped, the shift in angle making his length push deeper into you if that were even possible. He had you almost in a mating press position. Folding you in half and making you feel him all the way in your stomach. In your back. Everywhere.
“You don’t even know how good it makes me feel.” He grunted out, one hand digging into the couch above your head while the other held tight against your thigh over his shoulder, “Tell me you’re mine.” He demanded and you instantly responded, knowing hearing you talk like that to him only drove him closer to the edge. Your walls fluttered around him and his length only pulsed in response. He felt that familiar knot forming in the pit of his stomach and he forced himself to hang on. Hang on because Jeongguk thought he would be too fucking selfish to hit his own high before you did.
“I’m all yours.” You breathed out way too quickly, “Only yours.” You confessed. It was the truth and you were too dick hungry to lie anyways. The pleasure from his thrusts bloomed all the way up to your throat. Your chin. Your cheeks. Your skin flushed and reddened from it. Perspiration pricked along your forehead and down your back. He was pushing against that spot in you with this new angle and before you knew it, you were scrambling to grab onto him, “Fuck. I’m–” You yelped but it was too late. You hit that high faster than you thought you would. Eyes closing as you clenched around his length and literally whimpered his name out.
Those words were all he wanted to hear. Those simple words gave him all the assurance he needed. Not that he really needed to hear them anyways. Jeongguk knew you were his. But his cocky ass indulged either way. Loved when you were so high off him that you said everything you would otherwise hide from him.
That was enough to drive him over the edge. Not your walls vice gripping him when you climaxed. Not the way you said his name. Or even the way stray tears escaped your eyes because the feeling was too much. It was your pure honesty.
All he had to do was fuck it out of you.
“That’s right.” Jeongguk hummed out low, “Mine.” Proud eyes caught on the way your lips parted and the way you grabbed onto his bicep to brace yourself for the imminent orgasm to rock through you. But he didn’t stop thrusting. He knew you didn’t want him to. He knew you wanted him to continue fucking you until you couldn’t take it anymore.
And so, he claimed you with every thrust he made. Over and over again. His stamina was insane. He was the only one in your world that could last this long without getting tired. It was like he enjoyed the physical labour that went into fucking you.
Finally when you were at that peak of your orgasm. So high you couldn’t get the words properly out to say anything to him, Jeongguk eased you through it before you were even aware. He was in your ear talking about how he’s gonna fill you up and fuck you right. You heard him say you belonged to him. Heard him grunt out how much he loved your pussy. All of which you nodded numbly too. Thoughts mushed into a ball of pure bliss to form coherent words.
And then he was spilling inside of you next. You were so fucked out and the blood was rushing into your ears so fast that the only feeling you were aware of was the thick gush of his warmth filling you up. The voice that sounded foreign to you but was your own whispered out a, “You feel so fucking good.” from the feeling alone but you were still not fully in your conscious state yet. Completely past the point of return from the orgasm that claimed you.
You barely heard the little, “I love you.” Jeongguk whispered into your ear as he rocked his high out. But it was there. It covered over you. Spread through your veins like the finest drugs. You didn’t need him to tell you that. You knew he did. But he said it. And he meant it. He really fucking meant it.
Almost like as soon as the act was over. Once the itch was scratched. You both came back to your senses. There was no pillow talk. No after care. It was pure animalistic behaviour.
Your breathing was heavy. Barely able to catch it. Your hair was a mess from being rocked back and forth. Your thighs burned from being spread open so wide. Yet, you sat up anyway. Making him pull out of you as you pulled your panties back into their rightful place. As if the post orgasm clarity brought you back to reality.
Funny how the two of you were like two magnets that had been circling each other all night. And now you were back to being exes that couldn’t be in the same room as each other without wanting to tussle.
Jeongguk had already adjusted himself back into his pants. A hand running through sweaty hair as he looked around for his discarded shirt. He glanced at you. It was barely noticeable that he had his eyes on you because you were still trying to pull yourself together.
He noted the way you looked like a fucked out mess. Noted that he thought it was sexy. Noted your messy hair, smeared lipstick and running eye makeup caused by his doing. Your dressed now wrinkled and ruined. The splotch of wetness on his couch. He silently took note of everything so he could remember this night. Stashing the memory into the back of his mind where he filed everything else about you away.
Then he exhaled out tiredly, “I’m not gonna ask you to stay. You can do whatever you want.” Jeongguk said finally, pushing himself up from the couch and away from you as he picked his shirt off the floor with an exhausted sigh, “I’m going to shower.”
You lowered your dress and fixed the straps back on your shoulders, “I’ll stay.” You mumbled as you watched him move across the room silently. Seemingly unbothered on the surface. However, you caught the way his eyes flickered back to you once before he turned away completely. Quick and automatic. As if he was really making sure you meant the words you were saying.
At the bathroom’s entrance, Jeongguk stopped as he turned the light on, “But you won’t.” He nodded but didn’t look back this time, “I know you.” He added, voice even. Casual enough to sound like whether you stayed or left didn’t matter to him either way.
It did matter. To both of you.
The door to the bathroom closed shut before you could answer.
The apartment suddenly felt louder in the silence he left behind.
You stayed on the couch and ten seconds passed. Then another. Your eyes drifted to the hallway. The sound of the shower started faintly.
You told yourself you would wait until he came back out. Until it made sense to leave properly.
The longer you sat there though, the more everything in you started to tilt
This was the pattern. He said you could leave. You stayed.
You stood up before you could think too much about it. Looked back at the wet spot on his couch left behind by you as you pulled your dress down and shrugged. He has a cleaner for a reason. You thought as you grabbed your phone and your purse off the coffee table. Your heels from the hallway. Then you made your way to the front door on wobbly legs.
You hesitated there for half a second. Long enough for your reflection in the mirror hanging in the hallway to look like someone who was about to change their mind again. You fixed your ruined makeup to the best of your ability and inhaled a deep breath. Forcing yourself to unlock the front door before your mind could get the best of you.
You left his apartment without turning back. You told yourself you had waited a few minutes just to be sure. Just to make it easier. Just to reassure yourself. But it didn’t help. You wanted to stay so fucking bad. And that’s exactly why you needed to dip the hell out of there.
The hallway light outside Jeongguk's door felt too bright. As if it didn’t belong to the version of yourself that had just been sprawled out on his couch getting your shit rocked and pretending this was all normal.
Inside, Jeongguk was still in the shower. Or at least you thought he was. Water running quietly. Steam filling the bathroom. The scent of his body wash filling the apartment.
Outside, the night air hit you like a wave when you slid into the rideshare’s back seat. You immediately cracked the window open just a bit, letting the wind rush in against your face.
Cold, sharp and sobering.
Your chest still felt tight. Legs still felt like jelly. The middle of your panties were already soaking from the way he was slowly trickling out of you. You squeezed your thighs together and adjusted your dress. You had left in such a haste, you didn’t even remember to pee. Didn’t give yourself a chance to clean up because you knew if you did, you would spend the night. And spending the night always turned into spending another day. And so on.
You held your purse against your chest as you stared out into the night. Rain drizzled steadily from the dark sky. Speckling the car’s window. Streetlamps glowed softly against the wet pavement. Empty intersections slipped by one after another. Tires whipped over rain slicked asphalt. The city was on their way to sleep but you were wide awake.
You thought about what just happened with you and Jeongguk. The way you both said I love you to each other. Even if it was in the heat of the moment. Even if you wouldn’t dare to tell one another those words on a regular day.
He lingered on your skin. In your mouth. In your hair. In you. You would go home and take a shower. Scrub your body. But you wouldn’t be able to shake the spell that was Jeon Jeongguk off you that easily. You knew you would be thinking of him in the days to come.
And what would you do next? You would get on those dating apps again. Swipe until you find a match. You would go on another date. Deal with another boring loser. And then Jeongguk would find you again. Or you would find him.
The cycle would repeat itself. And yes, it’s tiring. Yes, it’s exhausting. And frustrating. But you wouldn’t have it any other way. You wouldn’t have Jeon Jeongguk any other way.
The fresh memories playing vividly in your head on a loop that didn’t seem to want to stop.
“I’m tired of pretending I don’t want you.” Your own words echoed in your head.
“You’re just gonna regret everything tomorrow.” Jeongguk’s voice echoed back louder.
Too honest. Too late. And too real to take back.
Your fingers curled into your palm because you had still left despite everything. Even after saying you wouldn’t. Even after Jeongguk looked at you like he wasn’t surprised you would at all. That brief memory was the one sitting wrong in your chest now. It wasn’t the fact that you said the truth. It was the fact that Jeongguk had been right about you.
You would leave. You would regret.
Regret didn’t come cleanly. It came in pieces. In the way your body still wanted to go back. In the way your mind kept replaying the moment you chose the door instead of staying. And in the quiet certainty that if he asked you to come over again, you probably wouldn’t be strong enough to say no next time.
You kept your head turned toward the window, forehead almost touching the glass. Trying to shake the feeling of Jeongguk off your skin. Of the way he looked at you when deep inside of you asking you if you still loved him. Tried to shake off the way you stared into his glossy brown eyes and whispered yes over and over again. The way you answered him in the way you would never manage to do during the day. You tried to shake off the way it was so easy to always fall back into him. As though nothing had ever broken between you both in the first place.
You told yourself it didn’t mean anything. That it couldn’t. That you wouldn’t go back again. That this was the last time.
The thought barely finished forming before the sound came.
A low, aggressive rev from somewhere behind the car. Cutting through the quiet rhythm of the drive. You straightened up instantly, eyes snapping to the rear window.
A motorcycle.
Black. Fast. And closing the distance too quickly for it to be random traffic.
Your stomach dropped to your damn toes.
The motorcycle cut through the slow moving cars with practiced precision. Its black fairings gleaming beneath the streetlights. Slung low. Loud. Expensive. The tinted windscreen and matte black accents gave it a predatory look.
You knew that bike.
You had spent too many nights on the back of it. Your arms around his waist while the city ceased to exist around you. You spent too many mornings watching the black machine disappear down empty streets, taking him with it too. Praying he made it back to you in one piece.
The rider wore a helmet, dark and reflective. His face was completely hidden. But by now, you didn't need to see it. Recognition had already settled heavily in your chest.
Jeongguk.
Even without seeing his face, you knew.
The motorcycle pulled up along the car you were in and stayed there for a moment longer than necessary. Matching speed with the car. Not passing. Not falling behind. It was just there. Stalling. Close enough that you could feel it. There was a pressure in the air between you and him. As if it were a reminder that no matter where you went, Jeongguk would always be there. Waiting for you. Wanting you.
You couldn’t see his eyes but you could feel them on you through his blacked out visor. Your breath caught, trapped somewhere between shock and something far more terrifying you didn’t want to name.
For one reckless second, all you could think was that he had come after you. And that somehow, despite the promise you broke when you said you would stay, he still followed.
The world narrowed to that moment. The hum of the engine beside you. The faded city lights behind his silhouette. The impossible fact of him choosing to be here.
Then, just as suddenly as he appeared, Jeongguk eased forward. Revving the engine of the motorcycle two more times before the bike surged ahead. Slipping cleanly past the car. A final flash of black, metal and quiet intent before he disappeared into the night.
There was no wave of hesitation. There was simply a presence that lingered long after he was gone. You stayed frozen. Fingers still curled against the purse held tight to your chest. Your heart beat so hard against your ribs, it felt painful. The window stayed open, but the air no longer felt cold enough because whatever that was. Whatever Jeongguk had just done… It wasn't an accident.
He hadn't chased after the car to stop you. He hadn't asked you to come back. The message had been delivered the moment he pulled up beside the car and matched your speed.
I'm here. And I'll always find you.
As the city lights swallowed the last trace of his taillight, the uneasy certainty settled deep within your chest.
You and Jeongguk were never supposed to make sense. There was no clean beginning. No healthy ending. No point where either of you could draw a line and stay on the right side of it.
You happened. Like a collision. Like a bad habit. Yet even now, with distance growing between you and his apartment. With every street carrying you farther away… your hand was already reaching for your phone because deep down, beneath the fear and frustration and common sense, you already knew how this story would end.
You would go back.
Maybe not tonight. Maybe not tomorrow. But eventually.
Again. And again. And again.
Just as you always did.
A/N - I just know this man put a tracker on her. Crazy ass.
This is my first time writing something like this. I was leaning towards a mafia style but didn’t make it obvious because I wasn’t really sure how to write it and my mind was skipping ahead of myself most of the time. It’s kind of all over the place, but if you’ve read my other work, you already know that's how I roll. The smut wasn’t LML level of nasty but after my hiatus I feel as though I’m not quite at that level yet. I’m working on it!
If you enjoyed this, share your thoughts! Any requests? Let me know!
“Never seen you ‘round here before.” He raises an eyebrow. “Anyone with that outfit on gotta be from the East. Ain’t seen a girl in heels in this bar in my whole life.”
“Maybe I like standing out,” you say, tilting your chin up and puffing your chest out. The whiskey’s doing wonders for your nerve. “Someone’s got to remind you boys what real shoes look like.”
The edges of his mouth curve upwards, pondering if he’s impressed or amused by your bite. Secretly, you hope it’s both.
“Sugar, those things are a workplace hazard. You’re tellin’ me you can run in ‘em?” Under the dim lights, his eyes twinkle, setting your chest ablaze with something other than the burn of whiskey.
“I don’t need to run anywhere. I’m a New Yorker. We walk at a fast pace in 7-inch heels.” You’re not well-versed in the whole flirting thing, but this has to be what it’s like… right?
That gets a real laugh out of him, head tipping back, and you feel an absurd little spike of pride at having caused that sound.
“That so?” He moves from behind you, leans an elbow against the bar, angling his body toward you. He travels in languid movements, like he’s got nowhere else on earth to be. “And here I thought you Yankees just had bad manners and worse weather.”
“We’re not rude,” you scoff. “We’re blunt. Honest. There’s a difference.”
He takes a step closer, and the scent of him encroaches, your brain turning fuzzy. “Mm. Didn’t realize those were the same thing.”
“Cousins. Close enough.” You shouldn’t have downed that drink. Now you really need another, because you’re certain you won’t make it out of this conversation in one piece.
“Then let me ask you somethin’, since you’re so honest.” His eyes flicker to your parted lips before jumping back to your eyes.
“Go ahead.”
The music comes to a halt, and Carrie Underwood’s voice blasts through the speakers. You’ve never really liked her music all that much, but her misplaced pep talk might be exactly the kind of bad influence you need.
His head tilts in your direction. “You ever met a Southern boy before me?”
“Can’t say I have.”
“So you must not have heard ‘bout Southern charm, sugar. That’s supposed to be our whole thing down here.” His eyes dare you, jaw twitching with glee at the way you press your thighs together.
“I’ve heard that.” Carelessly, you shrug. “Haven’t seen much evidence of it yet.”
“Keep talkin’ like that and I might have to prove it to you,” he says, voice only a little mocking.
Your body can’t help but lean in his direction, like sunflowers facing the light on a warm summer’s day. “I’d like to see you try, cowboy.”
“Mm.” The man hums, studies you for another moment. Then, he straightens and reaches for the brim of his hat. “Well. Where are my manners?”
He pulls the hat off his head, revealing disheveled chestnut hair that’s longer than you anticipated. You want to run your hands through it, know what it feels like to tug on the locks. The gesture is almost comically formal against the backdrop of the bar, but on him, it doesn’t look like a joke at all. He reaches for your hand. His palm is warm, calloused, swallowing yours whole. “Jungkook.” His eyes don’t dare leave your face. “And who do I got the pleasure of speakin’ to?”
Genre/tags : racing au, smut, fluff, strangers to friends to lovers, illegal street racing, slow burn, hurt/comfort
Summary : one late night, your best friend begs you to go with her to a street race. you decide to join her, and that’s when you meet Jungkook, the “golden driver” of the races, the one always winning and scoring every bet. but when his eyes meet yours, he knows he’s a goner, something he never thought he would be for someone. but that scares him, because he can’t have you—someone too sweet and soft, mixed into a world like his. or could he? maybe he’ll just need to shift gears to find out.
Series Warnings : ANYONE UNDER 18 PLEASE DON’T INTERACT ! reader is deaf and mute, Jungkook being a HUGE softie for reader, slight violence, police chases, eventual smut, fluff, mature language, kook trying his best with his feelings, reader is black/poc, use of sign language, reader wears hearing aids, use of drugs (weed), reader wears hearing aids, long hair koo hehe, koo owns a car AND motorcycle like the bad bitch he is
──
The night was way past young, the sky filled with stars from above. Everyone was tucked into their homes, their bundle of safety for the night until morning came.
Except you, that is. You were currently walking along the sidewalk, the summer air brushing your face as your feet met the pavement with each step. Your eyes would check your surroundings from time to time, paranoid about being out so late—walking around the city.
“we’re almost there”, your one and only friend, Nari spoke, her tone filled with excitement.
“Are you sure this is safe?” you signed, expressing your worry with gestures.
“Course it is, girl! I mean it’s not technically legal”, Nari mumbles. “But it’s fun! So fun. And I told you my boyfriend’s racing so we have a reason to go”.
Your brows furrow. “What if the cops get called?”
Nari shrugs. “Then we run back to my place, easy peasy”.
You let out a small sigh, knowing your friend is too stubborn to be convinced. You had tried over and over to excuse yourself from coming, claiming it would be too late and way past your usual bedtime. But here you were, walking with your best friend to a street race.
When you get there, you’re a bit amazed by what you saw. Car after car filled the street, no matter the color, size, or brand. People continued to pull up, men and women combined. But it didn’t matter what your gender was, you were racing and that was that.
Your eyes continued to scan the area, the loud noises of car engines rumbling deep in your chest. The feeling was new, but not bad.
This was new territory for you, another world you weren’t aware existed. But, you supposed this is what happens when the sun goes down and the city goes quiet for a few hours.
“Oh! I see him!” Nari exclaimed, grabbing your hand as you followed behind her into the crowd. You let out a small yelp, trying your best to keep up with her.
You both walk up to an all blue Ford Mustang, the body clean without a scratch on it. And next to it stood the man you assumed was Nari’s boyfriend—a dimpled smile making its way to his face when he saw you both come into view.
“Joonie!”
“Hey, baby” he greeted Nari, bringing her in by the waist, their lips meeting for a kiss. You promptly looked away awkwardly, not wanting to disturb their moment.
“Missed you”, Nari murmured against his lips, smiling against them. “Missed you more”, Namjoon replied before their lips parted, his eyes acknowledging you standing there. “Oh, hey”, he chuckled. “You must be____? I’ve heard a lot about you. You excited to see the race?”
You nod, smiling softly as your eyes drift to the Mustang. “Is that your car?”
Namjoon’s brows scrunch up, confusion evident on his face as his head tilted. “Mhm?”
Nari lightly pats his shoulder. “She asked if this is your car”.
“Oh” Namjoon grins. “Yeah this is mine, pretty fast too. Bought it a few years ago before I started racing down here”.
“He toke me for a drive once, it was horrible”, Nari stated bluntly.
Namjoon chuckles. “It wasn’t that bad”
“Oh really?” Nari scoffs. “You were speeding so much I almost puked all over the dashboard”
“But I made sure to be careful didn’t I?” Namjoon flashed a grin at her.
“Barely” Nari fondly rolled her eyes before giving him another peck to the lips. You cover you mouth, giggling quietly at their cute banter.
Soon, the race was minutes away from starting and everyone got into their cars. They drove up to the finish line, aligned next to each other as they revved their engines repeatedly.
You and Nari stood off to the side with the rest of the crowd that came to watch the race, everyone buzzing with excitement and anticipation. You were a bit excited yourself—curious of how fast the cars could truly go.
A younger girl with a cropped shirt and shorts started to walk infront of each expensive vehicle, stopping in the middle of street—raising a checkered flag into the air.
As soon as she brought the flag down, each car toke off down the street. Everyone begins to cheer, jumping up and down or screaming at the top of their lungs. You just ended up clapped, but enthusiastic nonetheless.
What hadn’t known though was how a street race truly worked. Sure, you had heard of Motorsport like formula 1 or derby races—but illegal street racing wasn’t something you knew a lot of until tonight.
Probably because it was illegal to begin with.
“How long are the races?” you sign, gesturing towards the street.
Nari hums in thought, tilting her head. “Not too long, they have to race throughout the city until they make it back to the finish line. Whoever makes it back first wins”, she explains simply.
“Is he good?”
“Who? Joonie?” Nari asked, you nod.
“Yeah he’s pretty good, usually comes in second”.
You nod once more, furrowing your brows “who comes in first?”
Just as Nari was about to reply, she gets interrupted by the sound of a loud engine heading your way. You both turn your heads, seeing an all black Doge Challenger speeding down the street with haste. When it crossed the finish line, everyone around you with crazy with excitement, yelling with enthusiasm for the mystery driver. You clap a few times yourself, curious of it was the won.
The car comes to a stop, being put into park as the car opened—revealing a man getting out with ease. He smiled at the applause and cheering around him—his lip ring catching light as it dangled. He dapped a few guys up as he moved through the crowd, not being too smug but not turning down the attention either. He won rightfully, so he deserved it.
“Him”, Nari nodded in his direction. “Jungkook, one of Namjoon’s friends. There hasn’t been one race where he didn’t come in first, he’s a pro”.
You tilted your head with curiosity. “Has he been racing for long?”
“Yeah, a few more years than Joonie. He’s not too cocky about it though, but he won’t back down from the attention as you can see”, Nari chuckles, gesturing towards the multiple different girls drowning the jet black-haired man with praise. He was polite to them, but you could tell from a distance it was a bit overwhelming for the man.
Namjoon walks over to you both after getting out of his car, a proud smile on his face as he had came in second once again.
“You did amazing, Joon”, Nari praises him, the man lifting her into his arms for a hug.
“Thank you, baby”, he grinned, the dimples appearing. “I was right on Kooks ass but he managed to get me by a few seconds”.
“As usual”, Nari rolled her eyes fondly.
“Hey guys!” you hear, and you turn your head to see Jungkook walking up to you all. For some reason, seeing him walking your way brought a weird feeling to your stomach and you didn’t know why.
Weird. You thought.
“Hey man, enjoying your victory once again?” Namjoon smiled, dapping him up casually.
Jungkook scoffs, smirking. “After beating your ass again? I’m basking in it”.
“Shut up, asshole”, Namjoon chuckles, playfully hitting him in the shoulder.
In the midst of laughing and conversing with his long-term friend, Jungkook notices you out the corner of his eye. You catch on, managing to look away in time.
“Hey”, he says, subtly looking you up and down, taking in your appearance. “Haven’t seen you around here. This your first race?”
You nod shyly, offering a hand in greeting for him. He glances down at your hand, huffing out a smile as he returned the handshake.
“I’m assuming you have a name?” Jungkook teased lightly, noticing you were rather quieter than your more chattier best friend.
That made you freeze, not sure how could physically tell him your name—and you doubted he knew an inkling of sign language.
Thinking quickly, you pull out your phone—moving to the notes app to quickly type out your name. You turn the screen towards him, taking in his reaction as he read it.
“_____?” Jungkook reads aloud, a smile forming. “I like that, very unique. Thank you for coming to the race, you have fun?”
You nod, smiling as you went to type on your phone again.
It was very fun. Just loud.
Jungkook laughs, digging his hands into his pockets. “Yeah, it gets loud around here sometimes but it’s all fun. What did you guys plan on doing after this though?”
“We were probably gonna head back to our apartment for the night, ____ didn’t wanna be out too late”, Nari replies, walking up to place her arm around your shoulder.
As Jungkook opened his mouth to reply, the loud noise of police sirens could be heard in the distance. In an instant everyone began scattering, getting into their cars and leaving the area.
Jungkook looked back at you, smiling causally as if the chaos around him wasn’t currently happening. That made you realize how used to this world he truly was.
“It was nice to meet you, _____. See you around, yeah?” He spoke, his voice husky but soft. You manage to nod, feeling heat rush to your cheeks from the intimate tone.
Jungkook gives you one last glance before running off to his car, his body becoming lost in the swarm of people on the street.
“Come on _____! We’re riding with Joon back home”, Nari quickly grabbed her hand, following behind her boyfriend back to his car.
As you all drove away, hearing the police sirens in the distance, you couldn’t stop thinking about him. The man who you’d only spoken a few words to, but gained so much from at the same time.
And some small part of you wondered when you would see him again.
A/n - Hiii everyone !! Hope you enjoyed the first chapter of this series. I’m excited to finally be writing my first series on here ahhhh !! bye bye for now :]
IN WHICH, jeon jungkook knew he shouldn’t keep coming over, and you knew better than to let him in. but rain has a way of softening bad decisions, and by the time his wife’s name lights up your room, he's already too deep in the lie to pretend either of you are innocent.
pairings `married!jungkook x f!reader genre `affair au, angst, smut, taboo romance, toxicity, emotional infidelity warnings `MDNI, explicit content ahead, infidelity/adultery, cheating, jungkook is married, morally grey characters, toxic relationship dynamics, guilt, jealousy, swearing, making out, oral sex (f! receiving), fingering, protected sex (WRAP IT UP), dirty talk wc 9.1k
a/n hi loves, bit of a longer fic today, debating if i should make this into a mini series... also quick reminder, I do not condone unfaithfulness in any capacity, nor do glorify it, this is purely fictional and for reader's entertainment. enjoy! ;)
119
First thing you learned about jeon jungkook was that he lied with his hands before he lied with his mouth. His mouth could get him out of almost anything.
By then, deception had became part of this routine. It told his wife he was working late, it told his friends he was exhausted, it even told himself he was only stopping by to see you just to say "hello".
But it seemed his hands failed to get the memo.
They trembled extravagantly when he was angry. They lingered when he should've let go. Every time he reached for your waist, there was that split second where his grip tightened first, like he'd forgotten himself.
You knew better than to think about that.
“You shouldn't be here,” you say. It's a weak protest when you're already gripping the front of his coat and pulling him closer. Jungkook exhales through his nose. It almost sounds like a laugh, except neither of you found anything funny about this anymore.
“'Was just stopping by…”
You roll your eyes. "You said that last time, jungkook.”
“Yeah.” His gaze drops briefly to your mouth before finding your eyes again. “I know.”
Which was somehow worse. Before you can think of another argument, his lips were on yours. No apology, no overcompensating explanation, no asking if he’s allowed to come back into your life and put his hands on you like the last few months didn’t happen.
Just his mouth against yours, soft and gentle at first, then unbearable, those long fingers firm beneath your chin like he could tilt the answer out of you.
You mean to bite him.
You almost do.
Then his knee nudges between your thighs, and the sound that leaves you is humiliatingly soft.
You hear his breath catch.
No, you feel it more than hear it, the hitch in his chest when your hands slips beneath his coat and find his waist through the thin fabric of his shirt. Thin enough that you could feel the rigid tension of him underneath when your fingers moved lightly over his abdomen.
Your nails dig in, and he groans as if you may have genuinely hurt him, and you know what, maybe you wanted to.
“Fuck,” Jungkook mutters, mouth dragging from your lips to the corner of your jaw and back again, greedy and unsteady.
“I drove past your place twice before I came up."
His voice goes quieter.
“'Missed you.”
Damn him.
You hate how quickly it lands.
And you hate that some part of you has been waiting to hear it. It annoys you, how little time jungkook needed to undo you.
You had a whole speech prepared. Something about boundaries. About the way he keeps showing up soaked through like that was his excuse. About your floor and how you’re still the one wiping it up afterwards, asshole.
It made sense when you were alone with it, turning it over in your head.
Now he’s standing here, dripping onto your brand new ergonomic mat like nothing you said had ever really stuck to begin with, and the speech starts to feel a lot less important than the fact that you’re still letting him in.
You get as far as his last name.
“Jeon—”
He presses his lips against yours in a slow, tantalizing peck before you could even finish. like he was desperately waiting for that sound, just so he could steal it from you.
And he did. For one pathetic second, you let yourself melt into it.
But then you remembered. You were upset.
You caught his lip between your teeth.
He exhales under his, a curse slipping through your lips in korean.
It landed closer than it should've.
His palm slapped against the wall beside your shoulder, and the sound made you flinch before you could pretend it didn’t. Rain from last hour's heavy shower dripped from his hair and onto your cheek.
It was ridiculous. The kind of thing that would've made you laugh.
Instead, you were distracted by the weight of him standing so close. His coat drenched and cool against your hands, but his skin underneath proved to be the exact opposite. His fingers found bare skin under your sweater. The rough edge of a callus.
The cool press of his ring.
Every thought you’d had a second ago had vanished.
But it should've brought you back to yourself.
It should've been enough to make you shove him away and tell him to go home to the woman whose name lived in his phone with a heart beside it, while your name had settled for being ‘119’.
His thumb dragged lightly over your side before he tipped his forehead against yours.
“Don’t,” you say softly.
A crease forms between his brows.
“Don’t what?” His voice softening, “Talk to me.”
That was the problem with jungkook.
He always said things like that as if talking had ever saved either of you. As if words didn’t make everything worse, didn’t crawl into the quiet afterward and sit there with their knees pulled to their chests, staring at you until morning.
So you don’t talk.
You put both hands on his chest and shoved him back.
Not hard enough to send him away. Hard enough to make him understand that if he’s going to stand in your hallway with rain in his hair, a ring on his finger, and another woman’s life clinging to him like cologne, he doesn’t get to be tender about it.
His back hits the opposite wall with a dull thud. For one charged second, he just looks at you, chest rising beneath your palms, lips parted, eyes gone darker than the hallway should allow.
Then he smiles, barely.
It pisses you off.
“You think this is funny?”
“No,” he answers, and his hand closes around your wrist, not to stop you, only to feel you there. “I think you missed me too.”
Your jaw tightens.
Jungkook sees the answer before you give it to him. His smile fades first. Then his expression shifts into something hungrier, rougher around the edges, and you hate that he knows you well enough to read the shame before you can hide it.
“I hate when you do that,” you say.
“What?”
“Act like missing me gives you the right.”
He holds your gaze, his thumb moving once over the inside of your wrist. “It doesn’t.”
“But you still use it.”
“Yeah,” he says quietly. “I do.”
The honesty lands like a slap.
It should make you step back. Instead, it pulls something mean out of you. You reach for his left hand and lift it between you, turning it until the gold band catches the thin hallway light.
His fingers flex.
You feel the resistance travel through him. A small, private panic.
“Take it off.”
He clicks his tongue before his eyes flick to yours. “Aish, don't start that.”
“I said take it off."
His mouth presses together, and for a moment the whole apartment seems to shrink around the two of you: the wet shoes by your door, the unopened mail on the console, the neighbor’s television murmuring through the wall, the damp heat of him so close that every breath you take has him in it.
“You think that changes anything?” he asks.
“No.” You look at the ring, then at him. “I just don’t want her touching me.”
The words go through him cleanly. You see it in the way his shoulders lose their shape, in the tiny twitch near his mouth, in the guilt that arrives exactly when it’s least useful.
He shouldn’t look hurt. He has no right.
Still, his hand lowers.
The ring slides over his knuckle with a faint scrape, stubborn for half a second before it gives. He holds it in his palm like it weighs more than it should, then places it on the narrow table beside your keys.
The little sound it makes against the wood is obscene.
“다 된,” he says, voice low. Done.
You stare at the bare strip of skin on his finger.
It’s worse, somehow. Without it, he looks almost available.
Jungkook reaches for you again, and this time you let him. His palms settle on your waist, warmer now, his thumbs pressing into the soft give of your sides under your sweater. He doesn’t kiss you right away. He watches your face first, as if he’s waiting for the moment you decide to punish him or forgive him, as if he hasn’t figured out by now that you usually do both.
“Tell me to leave,” he murmurs.
Your laugh comes out thin. “Is that what you want?”
He shakes his head no before dragging out a soft, “아니요.” No.
“Then don’t put this on me.”
His eyes close briefly.
Good.
You’re glad he feels it. You’re glad there are still places in him that bruise.
When he opens them again, whatever patience he had left is gone. He pulls you in by the waist and kisses you like the argument was only foreplay neither of you had the dignity to name. His mouth is hot, urgent, tasting faintly of mint and the rain. You wrap your arms around his nape, dragging him closer while he backs you out of the hallway and toward the bedroom by memory, like he belongs here, like he hasn’t learned the geography of your apartment through betrayal.
The back of your knees hit the edge of the bed.
You sit down hard, and jungkook follows, bending over you, one hand cupping the side of your neck as his mouth moves down your jaw. He kisses the place beneath your ear that he learned too early. Your hands push his coat off his shoulders.
It lands heavily on the floor, wet fabric folding over itself.
“You’re dripping everywhere,” you mutter.
His laugh is breathless against your skin. “I’ll clean it.”
“You never clean anything.”
“I’ll buy you a new mat.”
“You said that last time too.”
He lifts his head, eyes bright with something almost boyish, almost cruel in how familiar it is. “Didn't you force me to buy you a new one?"
“It's the new one you’re ruining, genius.”
The corner of his mouth pulls up again, but the smile doesn’t last. It never does anymore. Not when his gaze drops to your mouth. Not when your fingers skim the waistband of his trousers. Not when the space between you starts making demands neither of you can dress up as anything else.
He sinks to his knees.
Your breath catches before he even touches you.
The sight of him there should feel powerful. Sometimes it does. Tonight, it feels dangerous. Jungkook on his knees between yours, hair damp and falling into his eyes, hands resting on your thighs with that careful pressure he uses when he’s pretending he’s not already losing control.
He looks up at you.
“You’re mad,” he says.
“Brilliant observation.”
His thumbs move slowly over your knees. “You can be mad.”
“I wasn’t waiting for permission?”
“Right.” His mouth brushes the inside of your thigh over the thin fabric of your shorts. “I mean it. Be mad.”
Your fingers tighten in the sheets. “Don’t try to make this noble.”
“I’m not.”
“Here you go. making it sound like if we’re honest enough about being awful, it becomes something else.”
He stills for a second.
Then his lips press to your thigh again, softer this time. “Does it?”
You look down at him, at the wet lashes, the mouth that has lied to everyone and still somehow makes you believe the worst truths.
“No.”
The answer hangs there.
He looks up at you like he’s waiting for an order, but his hands are already sliding up your thighs, already greedy under the hem of your sweater.
“You’re shaking,” he says.
“I’m cold.”
“Liar.”
You lean down and catch his jaw in your hand, squeezing just enough to make his eyes darken. “You don’t get to narrate me tonight either, okay?"
His tongue touches the inside of his cheek. “Then tell me what to do.”
The obedience in his voice is fake. The hunger isn’t.
You lift your hips, and he hooks his fingers into your shorts, dragging them down your legs with none of the patience he usually uses to torture you. Your underwear goes with them, damp and sticky already, and you hate the way his gaze drops between your thighs and turns feverish.
“예수,” he says under his breath. Jesus.
You snap your knees wider, daring him to look away. “Don’t pray now.”
A laugh breaks out of him, low and wrecked, and then his mouth was on your thigh again. He kisses high, open-mouthed and wet, teeth grazing skin as his hands shove your sweater up over your hips. His lips move closer to where you’re aching, slow enough to make you furious.
“Jungkook.”
“Mm?”
“If you continue to tease me, I’ll make you regret coming tonight.”
He looks up from between your legs, mouth hovering too close, eyes too bright. “You already do that every time.”
Then he licks you.
Your stomach jumps. A sound catches in your throat before you can kill it, and jungkook groans like your pussy hits him harder than anything you said in the hallway. He spreads you with his thumbs and drags his tongue through your slit again, slower, filthier, collecting the slick heat of you with a kind of shameless hunger that makes your hands fly to his hair.
“Fuck—” You tug hard. “Don’t look so pleased with yourself.”
He answers by closing his lips around your clit.
Your hips buck.
The room blurs at the edges as he sucks, soft at first, then harder when your thighs tense around his head. He eats you out like he’s starving and resentful about it, tongue flattening against you, then flicking quick, then dragging slow enough to make you let out a soft whine.
The wet sounds were obscene, slick and hot and intimate, his mouth working between your thighs while rain taps the glass like impatient fingers.
“Unh— shit, kook.”
His hands clamp around your thighs, holding you open when you try to close them around his ears. He pulls back just enough for his breath to spill over your pussy, warm and uneven.
“Mm, there you go,” he mutters. “Let me hear how much you fucking hate me.”
You yank his hair until his head tilts back. His lips shine. His chin is wet with you. The sight makes something ugly and needy twist in your chest.
His expression flickers.
He kisses your inner thigh once, almost gently, and slides two fingers into you.
Your grip on his hair tightens as your body takes him in, the stretch sudden and deep. He curls his fingers, searching, and finds exactly where you’re weak. You gasp so sharply it hurts.
“Yeah, right there?" he asks, voice rough.
“Shut the fuck up.”
He grins and does it again.
Your head falls back, a moan spilling out before you can stop it. “Oh— fuck, there.”
Jungkook’s mouth returns to your clit, then there’s nothing polite left in the room. His fingers pump into you with a wet, steady rhythm, knuckles slick, palm grinding against your entrance while his tongue circles and sucks your clit until your thighs start trembling around his shoulders. He moans into your cunt, and the vibration rolls through you so hard your spine arches.
You try to hold on to anger.
He makes it difficult when his mouth is this dirty, when he’s licking you like he wants to crawl inside your skin and live under your pulse. He knows how to make you break in layers. Knows how to make you curse at him, then beg without using the word. Knows how to keep his fingers deep and his tongue ruthless until every nerve in your body is pulled tight.
“Don’t come yet,” he says mouth full of you.
You laugh breathlessly, furious. “Don’t tell me what to do.”
“'Want to be inside you when you do.”
The words send heat tearing through you.
He feels the way you clench around his fingers and looks up, smugness softened by raw need.
You hate him for that most of all.
You push at his shoulder, and he pulls away at once, fingers slipping out of you with a wet sound that makes your face burn. His mouth is a mess. Your arousal shines on his lips, his chin, the edges of that devastating smirk.
“Take your clothes off,” you tell him.
Jungkook rises like his knees don’t work properly. He strips fast, shirt first, the damp fabric peeling away from his torso and landing on the floor. His tattoos shift over his arm as he fumbles with his belt. The buckle clinks. His trousers drop. His briefs follow, and then he’s standing there hard and flushed and breathing like he’s already been fucked half out of his mind.
Your eyes drag over him.
He notices.
“Still mad?” he asks.
You reach for the nightstand and grab a condom, tossing it at his chest. “Still married?”
His mouth snaps shut.
He rips the foil open with his teeth.
There’s something deeply satisfying about watching his hands shake as he rolls it on. He tries to hide it, but you see everything. The tightness in his jaw, the flex in his stomach, the way his cock twitches when your legs spread wider on the bed.
He crawls over you like he means to pin you down.
But you press your foot to his chest and stop him.
His eyes lift.
“Ah ah,” you say. “Lie back.”
A muscle jumps in his cheek.
For a second, you think he might argue. Then he swallows, nods once, and shifts onto the bed, sitting against the pillows with his back braced against the headboard. His cock stands hard against his stomach, condom slick in the low light, his thighs spread, his chest moving too fast.
You climb over him slowly.
His hands reach for your hips immediately.
You slap them away.
“No.”
He freezes, eyes blown wide.
“You don’t get to touch,” you say, settling over his lap without taking him in yet. Your pussy brushes the length of him, and both of you suck in a breath. “You touch when I say you can.”
Jungkook’s fingers curl against the sheets. “Fuck, you're trying to kill me."
“You’ll live.”
“Yeah?”
You lower yourself enough to drag your slick heat along the underside of his cock, slow and deliberate. His head tips back against the headboard with a dull thump, throat exposed, mouth falling open.
“Mmh,” he groans. “Don’t do that if you don’t want me to come fast."
“I want you to.” You grind down again, coating him, feeling him twitch beneath you. “I want you stupid. I want you ruined. I want you walking out of here remembering exactly whose bed you were in.”
His eyes snap open, dark and dangerous. “I never forget.”
You throw his words back at him. “Liar.”
He reaches for you again on instinct, and you catch his wrist, pinning it beside his head.
The position changes something.
His breath catches. Your body hovers over his, your knees braced on either side of his hips, your wet pussy sliding over his cock without letting him inside. He looks up at you with naked frustration, lips parted, hair damp against his forehead.
He could overpower you easily. He doesn’t. That restraint makes the moment dirtier than force ever could.
“Ask,” you whisper.
His brows draw together. “For what?”
“For permission.”
His laugh comes out strained. “You’re enjoying this too much.”
You lean down until your mouth brushes his. “Ask, jungkook.”
The sound he makes is almost a growl, but his hips stay still under you. “Can I touch you?”
“Where?”
His eyes drop to your chest, your waist, the place where you’re making a slick mess of him. “Everywhere.”
“Too vague.”
His jaw flexes, and the humiliation of wanting makes his voice rougher. “Your hips. Your thighs. ‘Want to hold you while you ride me.”
A pulse of pleasure goes through you so sharp you almost give in too quickly.
Almost.
“Good,” you murmur, and sink down on him.
The stretch steals the next breath from both of you.
You take him slowly, inch by thick inch, your hands braced on his shoulders, your knees pressing into the mattress. Jungkook’s face twists, eyes squeezing shut as you slide down until he’s buried all the way inside you. The fullness is brutal after his fingers and mouth, deep enough to make your thighs shake before you even move.
His hands hover at your sides, waiting.
The obedience nearly breaks you.
“Touch me,” you say.
He grabs your hips like the words snap a leash.
His fingers dig into your flesh, hard enough to leave marks, and his head drops back again as you lift yourself halfway and sink down. A ragged groan tears out of him. You do it again, slower, letting yourself feel every inch of him drag against your walls.
“Oh— fuck yes,” you breathe.
Jungkook stares up at you like you’re the last thing he’ll ever see. “You feel insane.”
You tighten around him on purpose.
His hips jerk. “Shit— don’t—”
“Don’t what?” You roll your hips, grinding down until your clit catches against him. “Don’t make you feel good? Isn’t that why you came here?”
His fingers flex on your hips. “I came here because I couldn't stop thinking about you.”
“You came here because you’re selfish.”
“Mmh— yes,” he says, and the bluntness knocks something loose between you. His voice drops, stripped bare and ugly. “I am. I’m selfish, ‘wanted you, ‘thought about this all night until I couldn’t breathe.”
Your rhythm falters for half a second.
He feels it.
His grip tightens, helping you move now, guiding you up and down on his cock as his eyes burn into yours. “‘Thought about your mouth. Your hands. Your pussy. ‘Thought about how wet that pussy gets when you’re mad at me. ‘Thought about you telling me I’m a bastard while you come all over me.”
A moan slips out of you, broken and unwilling.
His mouth curves, but there’s pain in it.
“Like that,” he says. “Do it again.”
You ride him harder to shut him up.
The bed begins to creak under the rhythm, deep and steady, your body lifting and dropping on him while his cock fills you over and over.
Jungkook’s hands drag over your thighs, your waist, up under your sweater to bare skin. He pushes the fabric higher, impatient, and you yank it over your head for him, tossing it aside.
His gaze drops to your perky breasts.
The hunger on his face is immediate.
He sits up suddenly, still inside you, making you gasp as the angle shifts. His arms wrap around your back while his mouth closes over one nipple, hot and wet, sucking hard enough to send pleasure straight between your legs.
You grab his hair, grinding down on him as he licks and bites at your breast like he can’t decide where he wants his mouth most.
“Mmm, kook—”
He groans against your skin. “Say my name like that again.”
“No.”
He thrusts up into you.
The movement punches a cry from your throat, louder than you expected, and he does it again, using his grip on your hips to drag you down while he drives up. The clean control of your riding fractures into something rougher, wetter, more desperate. You’re bouncing on his cock now, taking him deep with each downward roll, slick sounds filling the room every time your bodies meet.
“Look at you,” he rasps, mouth against your chest. “‘Act like you’re punishing me, but your pussy’s squeezing me like you missed me.”
You slap him.
Not hard enough to hurt badly. Hard enough to turn his face slightly and leave the room stunned.
Jungkook goes still inside you.
Your palm tingles.
Slowly, he turns back.
His eyes are black with want.
“Again,” he says.
Your cunt clenches around him before you can stop it. He feels it, and his smile is wrecked, filthy, triumphant in a way that makes you furious enough to ride him harder. You plant both hands on his chest and shove him back against the pillows, taking control of the pace again. His hands fly to your hips, and this time you let him hold on as you fuck yourself on him, using him for friction, for fullness, for the terrible satisfaction of watching him fall apart beneath you.
His phone lights up on the nightstand.
The glow cuts across the dark room like a blade.
You don’t look at first.
Jungkook does.
His face changes before you see the screen, and that tells you enough.
The phone buzzes.
Bzzzt.
Your gaze shifts.
Sowon.
The name sits there with a tiny heart beside it, bright and domestic and nauseating.
Bzzzt.
Jungkook’s cock was still inside you. His hands still on your hips. Your cunt still wet around him.
You stop moving.
His breathing is ragged, chest rising beneath your palms.
“Answer it,” you say.
His eyes snap to yours. “No.”
“Answer your wife.”
“Don't.”
You grind down once, slow and cruel, and he chokes on the sound that comes out of him.
Bzzzt.
“Answer it,” you tell him. “Tell her where you are.”
His fingers dig into you. “Stop.”
“Why?” You lean closer, your mouth near his ear, your body clamped around him so tightly his hips twitch. “Afraid she’ll hear how hard you are?”
A rough curse leaves him.
The phone keeps vibrating.
You reach for it.
Jungkook catches your wrist before your fingers touch the screen.
For one suspended second, neither of you breathes.
Then the call ends.
Sowon ❤️
3 Missed calls now
The screen goes dark, and the room becomes yours again, except it isn’t. It has her in it now. Her name, his ring in the hallway, the ghost of whatever bed he left to come here.
Something mean rises in you, hot and sharp.
You lift yourself almost off him, then slam back down.
Jungkook’s head hits the pillow, a broken groan tearing from his throat. “Unh—”
“And you don’t get to look guilty while you’re still inside me.”
His hands seize your hips. “I am guilty.”
“Then act like it.”
His eyes sharpened.
You ride him harder.
The rhythm turns filthy fast, all slick friction and blunt impact, your thighs burning as you bounce on his cock, your nails raking down his chest while he stares up at you like he’s being punished and blessed at the same time. His hips thrust up to meet you, rough little snaps that shove him deeper and make your voice break into helpless sounds you can’t dress up as anything else.
“Ah— fuck, jungkook—”
“Mm, yeah? Right there?” he grits out, sweat and rain still shining at his temples. “Use me. Fucking use me if that’s what you need.”
“You’d like that too much.”
“I like anything that keeps you on me.”
The honesty was disgusting.
But it made you wetter.
You hate that he can feel it, hate the way his mouth opens on a silent groan when your body slicks around him, taking him easier, louder. He reaches between you, thumb finding your clit, rubbing tight circles that make your hips stutter. Pleasure sparks through you so suddenly your pace falters.
“No,” he says, voice raw. “Don’t stop.”
“You don’t get to tell me—”
“I know. I know, baby, I know.”
The word hits like a hand around your throat.
You freeze.
His face drains the instant he realizes.
The room fills with both of you breathing too hard.
“I told you,” you say, each word low and trembling, “not to call me that.”
His hand leaves your clit, but his thumb remains slick against your skin. “It slipped.
“I doubt that.”
His eyes hold yours, guilty and stubborn. “Fine. I meant it.”
The confession lands with unbearable softness in the dirtiest possible place. You straddling him, full of him, your thighs spread over his hips while another woman’s missed call sits between you like a witness.
You should climb off.
You don’t.
Instead, you lean down and bite his neck.
Jungkook groans, loud and ruined, his hands locking around your waist as his hips buck up into you. You bite harder, then soothe it with your tongue, and his whole body shudders beneath you.
“No soft names,” you whisper against his skin. “No playing a facade. No making this pretty because you can’t stand what it is.”
His voice comes out uneven. “Then what do you want me to call you?”
You lift your head, holding his gaze as you start moving again, slow at first, grinding every inch of him into you.
“Nothing,” you say. “I want you too fucked out to speak.”
His pupils blow wide.
Then you give him exactly that.
You ride him with both hands planted on his chest, hips rolling in deep, grinding circles before lifting and dropping again. He tries to talk at first, little fragments of curses and your name, but the harder you move, the less language he has. His mouth falls open. His brows pinch. His hands slide to your ass in a tight grip, helping you take him, pulling you down each time his hips thrust up.
The sound was obscene.
Wet skin. Creaking mattress. Your breath breaking. His low, strangled grunts. The slick slap of your body meeting his. Every noise tells the truth neither of you can survive saying cleanly.
You feel your orgasm building again, thicker this time, fed by anger and shame and the relentless pressure of him inside you. His thumb returns to your clit without permission, and you’re too far gone to stop him. The circles are messy now, desperate, but they’re exactly right. Your thighs tremble around his hips.
Jungkook watches you start to fall apart.
“Yeah, come on,” he rasps. “Let me feel it."
You shake your head, even as your body tightens. “You don’t even deserve it.”
“No,” he agrees, breathless. “I don’t.”
That should not be what does it.
It does.
Your orgasm hits hard, ripping through you with a force that makes your rhythm collapse. You cry out, hips jerking, cunt clamping down around him in pulsing waves while jungkook swears beneath you, hands squeezing your ass as he fucks up into the tightness.
“Fuck— fuck, you’re so tight—”
Your body shakes over his, pleasure turning your anger molten, spreading through every nerve until all you can do is take the rough upward thrusts he gives you. His control is shredded now. You can see it in his face, hear it in the low, broken sounds spilling out of him.
He sits up again, arms locking around you, burying his face against your throat as he drives into you from below.
“I’m so close,” he whines.
“Then come.”
His grip tightens. “Say my name.”
You laugh breathlessly, cruel even now. “No.”
His hips stutter.
You pull back just enough to look at him, cupping his jaw in both hands. His eyes are glossy, desperate, fixed on you with a devotion that makes your chest hurt.
“Look at me while you do it,” you whisper. “Look at what you came here for.”
That ruins him.
Jungkook comes with a broken, guttural moan, hips slamming up one last time as his body locks beneath yours. His hands clutch you so hard it almost hurts, his face twisting with pleasure and guilt and something far more dangerous than either. You feel him pulse inside the condom, feel the tremors roll through him as he buries himself as deep as he can and shakes apart under you.
For several seconds, neither of you moves.
His forehead rests against your collarbone. Your fingers tangled in his damp hair. The room smelled like rain, sex, sweat, and the bitter aftermath of a choice made again.
Then his phone lights up once more.
A message this time.
The glow spills across the sheets.
Jungkook sees it over your shoulder.
His body still inside yours when his expression breaks.
You don’t turn to read it.
You don’t need to.
When you finally slip off of him, neither of you says anything.
It doesn't take jungkook long before he gets up to get dressed in his briefs and pants, then deals with the condom in your bathroom. You listen to the faucet run. You listen to him wash his hands like water can do anything for either of you. Your body still hums with aftershocks, damp and oversensitive, but the ache settling in your chest is sharper than anything between your legs.
When he comes back, he doesn’t get back into bed.
He stands near the doorway, naked from the waist up, trousers low on his hips, looking around the room as if he’s only just realized where he is.
You pull the sheet over yourself.
“She might call again,” you say.
His eyes drop to the nightstand.
“I know.”
“You should answer next time.”
He looks at you then. “Stop.”
The plea in his voice irritates you. “You don't get to sound wounded.”
“I’m not trying to.”
“You are. You always do. You look at me like I’m hurting you by pointing at the knife in your hand.”
His face goes pale in the low light.
For once, he has nothing to say.
Good.
Let there be a silence he can’t kiss his way through.
Jungkook turns away first. He finds his shirt on the floor and pulls it on, the fabric sticking slightly to his damp skin. You watch him dress because not watching feels too much like mercy. He buckles his belt. Checks his phone. The blue glow hollows out his face.
There it is.
That shift.
The man who had just fallen apart inside you disappears behind the man who knows what to type.
His thumbs move quickly.
“What are you saying?” you ask.
He keeps looking at the screen, the blue light catching the tired slope of his mouth. “'Missed her call because I went out for air.”
You stare at him.
The lie sounds so ordinary that it takes a second for the ugliness to catch up.
“Do you ever get tired?” You tilt your head.
Jungkook’s thumbs pause over the keyboard, eyebrow raised. “Of what?”
“Splitting yourself in half.”
His face doesn’t change much, but something in his eyes does. A small shift. A shutter pulled down too late.
He locks the phone and lets it hang at his side.
For a moment, neither of you moves.
The room still smells like him. Rain, sweat, the faint trace of his cologne clinging stubbornly to the sheets. Your skin cooling now, and the cold reaches you in places his hands had been warm minutes ago. You pull the sheet higher over your chest, more out of reflex than modesty.
Jungkook watches the movement.
The silence stretches long enough to make the air feel crowded.
Then he exhales and looks toward the hallway. “I should go before she calls again.”
Of course.
There it is, the inevitable shape of the night. The part where he turns from body back into husband. The part where you sit in your own bed and watch him collect himself piece by piece like he didn’t just leave parts of himself inside the room.
You don’t answer.
Jungkook checks his phone again. His jaw tenses, not enough for anyone else to notice, but you notice everything now. You have become fluent in the smallest failures of him.
“Go, then,” you say.
It comes out flatter than you expect.
He looks over.
You don’t meet his eyes. You trace a wrinkle in the sheet with your thumb, smoothing it down, then watching it rise again. Useless. Like everything else.
He says your name softly.
You hate that he can still make it sound careful.
“I’m not doing the doorway thing tonight,” you say.
“The doorway thing?”
“You standing there looking guilty until I say something that makes you feel less awful.”
His mouth parts slightly, then closes. He looks tired in a way sleep will not fix.
“That’s fair,” he says after a moment.
You laugh under your breath, almost soundless. “Great. Glad we landed on fair.”
He flinches at that, but doesn’t argue.
He leaves the bedroom to find the rest of his things. You hear him in the hallway, hear the wet drag of his coat being lifted from where it had fallen near the entrance, hear him step around the small puddle he left on your floor. The apartment settles around his movements with humiliating familiarity. He knows where his shoes are. He knows which hook snags his sleeve. He knows that the floorboard near the console creaks if he puts his weight on it.
He knows too much about a place he has no right to know.
On the narrow table by the door, his wedding ring sits beside your keys.
He had taken it off earlier with that grim little look on his face, as if the act cost him something noble. You’d watched him place it there. You’d watched the band catch the hallway light.
Now you wait for the sound of him picking it up.
It doesn’t come.
Instead, he comes back into the bedroom doorway with his coat on and his phone in his hand, his hair half-dry, his lips still faintly swollen from your mouth. His left hand hangs loosely at his side.
Bare.
The strip of paler skin around his finger is visible even in the dim room.
You notice immediately.
He doesn’t.
For some reason, that makes your throat tighten.
It’s ridiculous. It’s just a ring. A circle of metal. A promise he has already dragged through enough mud to bury it. Still, the sight of his empty hand hits you harder than expected. Without the ring, he looks less anchored to the life he is about to return to. More like the man who kissed you in your hallway. More like the man who had buried his face against your neck after coming and held on too tight.
You wish you hadn’t seen it.
Jungkook steps into the room, but not far. “I’ll text when I get back.”
You nod once.
He waits.
You can feel him trying to read you, trying to decide whether your quiet is anger, exhaustion, or the kind of hurt he should be afraid of. He has always been better with your anger. Anger gives him edges to hold. This quiet has no handle.
“Hey,” he says, softer now.
You keep your gaze on the sheet. “What?”
“What's wrong?"
That almost makes you smile, but it misses. “Nothing, jungkook."
“Still lying?”
You hate that he knew.
A few seconds pass before the mattress dips beside you. You look up despite yourself. Jungkook came back to the bed, one knee pressing into the sheets, his coat still on like he meant to leave and lost the thread halfway through.
His eyes move over your face, searching, and the concern there lands in the worst possible place.
“Don’t do that,” you say, but there’s no bite in it.
“Do what?”
“Look at me like I’m something you can fix before you go home.”
He swallows. His hand lifts, hesitates, then settles carefully against your cheek.
You should turn away.
You don’t.
His palm is warm. His thumb brushes beneath your eye, not wiping anything away because you aren’t crying. That somehow makes the gesture worse. Tenderness without evidence. Comfort offered to a wound neither of you will name.
“I’m not trying to fix anything,” he says. “I just don’t like leaving you like this."
Your laugh comes out thin. “You leave me like this all the time.”
“I leave you pissed off,” he says quietly. “This is different.”
That shuts you up.
He’s right, and you resent him for it.
When you’re angry, you can throw words at him until he bleeds enough to satisfy you. When you’re angry, he can take it, nod through it, let your cruelty balance the scale for a few minutes. Tonight, the anger has burned down to something quieter and heavier. You feel hollowed out, scraped clean by pleasure and shame and the sound of his wife’s name lighting up your room.
Jungkook sits fully on the edge of the bed.
His coat rustles. Rainwater darkens the fabric at his shoulders. He looks absurdly out of place and painfully familiar.
“Come here,” he says.
You stare at him. “Seriously?”
“Yes.”
“You’re literally about to go.”
“I haven’t left yet.”
“That’s not romantic, jungkook.”
“'Wasn't aiming for romantic.”
“Then what?”
He looks at you for a long second, and when he answers, his voice is low enough that it feels pulled from somewhere private. “I wanted to hold you for a minute without pretending it’s nothing.”
The sentence lands with no decoration, which makes it harder to dismiss.
You look away first.
“That’s selfish.”
“Probably.”
“At least you’re branching out from excuses.”
His mouth curves faintly, but the expression doesn’t last. “Yeah. I’m trying new ways to be terrible.”
It should not make warmth flicker in your chest.
You let out a breath, annoyed with him, annoyed with yourself, and then you shift closer before you can think better of it.
Jungkook’s arms come around you immediately.
Not rushed. Not hungry. Just firm.
He pulls you against his chest, coat and all, one hand cradling the back of your head while the other settles between your shoulder blades. For a second, you stay stiff in his arms, sheet gathered awkwardly between your bodies, your cheek pressed to the damp collar of his coat. He smells like outside air and skin and the rain he brought in with him.
Then your body betrays you in a new way.
You relax.
It happens slowly, then all at once. Your forehead drops against his shoulder. Your fingers curl loosely into the front of his shirt beneath the open coat. He exhales above you, and you feel it move through his ribs.
Neither of you speaks.
This affection is worse than the sex in some ways. Sex can be made ugly enough to survive. Sex can be blamed on impulse, loneliness, the body’s talent for ruining common sense. This is harder to excuse. His hand smoothing over your hair. His mouth pressing once to your temple. The way he holds you like he has done it in dreams and is trying to memorize the real weight.
“You should go,” you murmur, though you make no effort to move.
“I will.”
“Soon.”
“Yeah.”
“You’re still holding me.”
“I noticed.”
You close your eyes. “Asshole.”
His chest moves with a quiet laugh. “A little.”
“A lot.”
"I deserved that."
His fingers slide slowly through your hair, separating strands with a gentleness that makes something under your ribs ache. He kisses your temple again, then the side of your head, his lips lingering longer the second time.
“You always this quiet after?” he asks.
You think about lying.
“No.”
His hand stills for half a second.
Then he resumes the slow stroke over your hair. “Is it because of the call?”
“It’s because of all of it.”
He nods against you, a small movement.
You feel his throat shift as he swallows. “I hate that I’m the reason you feel like that.”
You pull back just enough to see him. “Then stop being the reason.”
He doesn’t answer.
There is the truth, sitting between you without needing to be dressed up. He can feel bad. He can hold you. He can kiss your forehead in your dark bedroom with his coat still wet from the rain. None of that means he will make the choice that would cost him the life waiting elsewhere.
Your gaze drops to his hand on the sheet.
Bare.
The sight punches through the moment again.
He follows your eyes, but before he can look properly, his phone vibrates in his coat pocket.
Both of you freeze.
The buzz is short and sharp against his chest, trapped between you. Jungkook’s arms loosen around you, and the spell breaks so quickly it is almost embarrassing.
He takes the phone out and glances at it.
His face changes.
Not dramatically. Just enough.
You already know.
“What's she saying?” you ask.
He looks torn for a second, then sighs. “She’s asking where I am.”
You move out of his arms.
This time he lets you.
The room cools instantly.
Jungkook types with one hand, slower now, as if every letter weighs something. You sit beside him wrapped in the sheet and watch the pale indentation on his ring finger while he lies to his wife.
The absurdity almost makes you laugh.
When he finishes, he pockets the phone and stands.
“I have to go.”
You nod.
Ultimately, there was nothing else to do.
He leans down as if to kiss your mouth, then stops himself.
You notice that too.
Something bitter sparks in you. “You can fuck me, but goodbye is where you find religion?”
His eyes sharpen with hurt, then soften into something ashamed. “That’s not what this is.”
“Then what is it?”
He looks at your mouth.
For one second, he seems like he might give in. Instead, he bends and presses a kiss to your forehead. It is warm, brief, and devastatingly careful.
“I don’t kiss you goodbye because if I do, I won’t leave when I’m supposed to,” he says against your skin.
Your breath catches despite every effort to stop it.
He straightens before you can respond.
Coward.
Maybe both of you.
You follow him to the front door, still wrapped in the sheet. The apartment is dim, the hallway light casting everything in weak gold. His wet footprints have dulled on the floor. Your ergonomic mat is bent at one corner from where he kicked it earlier.
The ring sits on the narrow table beside your keys.
You see it.
He doesn’t.
Jungkook shoves one foot into his shoe, then the other, distracted by another buzz from his phone. He checks the screen, tension pulling through his shoulders.
“똥,” he mutters. Shit.
You lean against the wall. “Trouble?”
“She’s asking if I took the car.”
“Did you?”
He looks up at you. “Obviously.”
“Hm, you're not very good at this.”
“I’m better when you’re not staring at me.”
“That was almost sweet.”
“It really wasn’t meant to be.”
Despite yourself, your mouth twitches.
He sees it, and for a second the expression on his face changes so quickly it hurts. Relief. Affection. Want. All of it there and gone before he can protect either of you from it.
He steps closer.
You think he might touch you again. He doesn’t, at first. He only looks at you, really looks, as if the quiet from earlier still bothers him.
Then he reaches out and tucks the sheet more securely around your shoulder where it had slipped.
The gesture is small.
Too domestic.
Your heart reacts like an idiot.
“You’re cold,” he says.
“I’ll live.”
“I know you will.” His thumb brushes the edge of the sheet near your collarbone. “Doesn’t mean I like it.”
You stare at him, thrown by the plainness of it.
He seems thrown too.
For a second, there is no affair in the room. No wife. No emergency contact name. No wet floor, no missed call, no ring in plain sight. Just Jungkook looking at you like leaving is taking effort.
Then his phone buzzes again.
Reality returns with terrible timing.
He closes his eyes for half a second. “Gotta go.”
“Fourth time, goodbye jungkook.”
He chuckles under his breath before he opens the door, cold hallway air slipping in around him.
Before he steps out, he turns back. “Thursday?”
The question is quieter than usual.
You could still say no. You could point to the table and say take your ring, take your guilt, take whatever you think this is, and don’t come back. The words are all there, lined up and ready.
Instead, your gaze flicks to his bare hand.
He notices the movement this time, but he misunderstands it. His fingers flex, and he looks down briefly, distracted, not long enough to register what’s missing. Then his attention returns to you.
You say, “Don’t come if you’re only going to feel bad about it afterwards.”
His mouth tightens. “That rules out most nights.”
“Then maybe sit with that.”
A quiet, pained laugh leaves him. “You’re mean when you’re sad.”
“Imagine how charming I’ll be when I’m happy.”
His eyes soften.
He reaches out, touches your cheek once, and this time you let the tenderness happen without pretending it doesn’t matter. His thumb moves along your skin, slow and careful.
“I’ll see you thursday,” he says, but it sounds less like confidence and more like a confession of weakness.
You don’t answer.
He leaves.
The door closes with a soft click.
You stand there for several seconds, listening to his footsteps move down the hall. The elevator dings. The doors open. Close. The building swallows him the way it always does.
Only then do you turn toward the table.
His wedding ring gleams beside your keys.
Forgotten.
For a while, you just simply stare at it.
It looks wrong in your apartment. Too bright. Too official. A little circle of proof sitting among your ordinary things. Keys, lip balm, a receipt from the convenience store, the tiny ceramic dish where you keep loose coins. It should be on his hand, catching light when he grips the steering wheel on the way back to her. It should be in his house, beside her toothbrush, beneath the roof where his lies have somewhere to land.
Instead, it's here.
With you.
Your stomach twists.
You pick it up.
The band is heavier than you expect, warm from the room or from memory. You turn it between your fingers, studying the smooth gold, the faint scratches along the outside. Marriage leaves marks even on metal.
Your phone lights up in the bedroom.
For a second, you don’t move.
Then you carry the ring with you, crossing the cold floor back into the wreck of your room. The screen glows against the twisted sheets.
Jungcuck
just got to the car
Another message comes through before the screen dims.
Jungcuck
hope you don't hate me
You stare at it, the ring pressed into your palm. Then another.
Jungcuck
don't like leaving you like this
Your throat tightens.
The affection at the end should make it easier. It doesn’t. If anything, it makes the whole thing more unbearable. Cruelty has clean edges. Tenderness seeps.
You sit on the edge of the bed.
The ring rests in your open palm, innocent and damning.
You type slowly.
You
you forgot something
The reply doesn’t come right away.
You imagine him in the driver’s seat, phone in one hand, rain streaking the windshield, his other hand maybe reaching automatically for the gear shift. Maybe he glances down then. Maybe his thumb brushes the bare place on his finger.
When his message appears, it is only one word.
Jungcuck
fuck
Jungcuck
my ring?
You look at the gold band in your hand.
You
yeah
A pause.
Long enough for him to swear out loud, maybe. Long enough for him to understand that the thing he uses to return to his life is sitting in your bedroom after he held you too sweetly and left too fast.
Jungcuck
I’ll come back
You breathe out a laugh with no humor in it.
You
she’s awake jungkook
Jungcuck
I’ll figure it out
You stare at that.
That was jungkook in four words. Not a plan. Not a promise. Just impulse dressed as certainty.
Your thumb hovers over the screen.
You could tell him no. You could tell him to explain the missing ring. You could keep it until Thursday. You could drop it into the little ceramic dish by the door and let it sit there among coins and spare keys like any other misplaced thing.
Instead, you set the ring on your nightstand.
Exactly where his phone had lit up earlier. It sits there beneath the lamp, bright and silent.
You type back.
You
not tonight
The typing bubbles appear almost immediately.
Disappear.
Appear again.
Jungcuck
please don't do this rn
Your chest aches at the word “please”.
You
I’m not doing anything. You left it.
Jungcuck
I was distracted
You
clearly
A longer pause follows.
Jungcuck
were you going to tell me?
You look toward the hallway, toward the table where it had been sitting in plain view while he touched your cheek and asked about Thursday. You think of his bare hand. His tired eyes. The way he noticed your quiet but not the missing weight on his finger.
You answer honestly.
You
I have to remind a married man he's married?
The message sends.
Rain taps gently at the window. The apartment feels too still now, as if it is waiting to see what kind of person you become with his marriage on your nightstand.
Jungkook doesn’t respond for almost a full minute.
Then your phone lights again.
Jungcuck
touché
You hate that reply.
You hate it because it gives you nowhere to put the anger. No argument to throw yourself against. No denial to tear apart.
Another message follows.
Jungcuck
I’ll get it thursday if you’ll keep it safe for me
The phrase makes something bitter rise in your throat.
"Keep it safe."
As if safety is a thing either of you knows how to offer.
You look at the ring.
Then at the message.
You
fine
His reply comes fast.
Jungcuck
thank you
You don’t answer but he does a few seconds later.
Jungcuck
and for what it’s worth, I meant what I said before I left
You don’t ask which part.
You already knew.
That he didn’t like leaving you quiet. That he wanted to hold you without pretending it was nothing. That if he kissed you goodbye, he might not leave.
All of it. None of it enough.
You put the phone face down.
The room is quiet except for the rain and the slow settling of your own breath. Your sheets are a mess. Your skin still carries him. Your hallway floor is marked by the water he tracked in and the absence he left behind.
On the nightstand, his wedding ring catches the lamplight.
𓄲 "Don't," Jungkook spits, moving to wipe his hands on a nearby towel, "I don't need to hear it." He bunches the fabric up between clenched fists in an attempt to channel his emotions onto the unsuspecting rag.
전정국 x f!reader ˖ ࣪ ꉂ🗯˙ ‹— cw dilf!jungkook single dad jungkook nanny!reader 1980s au slowburn fluff angst (eventual) explicit content age gap (jungkook is 30, reader is 20) oc!cassian/oc!rayne (jk's children)
⧽ word count ⋮ 7.3k
average reading time ⋮ 40 minutes
── [ ✉️ ] Oh, um, more lore in this one. Like, a possible name drop of a certain someone. I don't know how to feel about my writing in this one. It feels repetitive, I found out that there's only so many times you can write the motions of opening a present without going in circles. Anyway, things are about to actually get serious I'm so fucking scared (excuse my French), okay, yes, I love you ladies. Feedback in the comments/reblogs and asks are much appreciated <3
series masterlist | last chapter | next part
chapter 23 — "Give and Take"
There were a handful of profanities waiting on the tip of Jungkook's tongue right now — funny, considering he rarely cursed. Then again, he rarely found himself cock-blocked by his five-year-old son. It wasn't his fault, of course, but Jungkook still mourns the press of your lips against his, a reality that now seemed thousands of miles away.
"Santa— Is it you?"
Cassian was half-awake at best. On rare occasions he would sleep walk, leaving Jungkook to patiently follow him up and down the stairs a couple of times as he tries to guide him back to bed without waking the boy entirely. He hopes that isn't the case tonight — God have mercy on him and this creaking house if he had to be walked like a dog on a leash behind a sleep-dazed Cassian.
Luckily, that does not seem to be the case for a moment later his son pries his heavy eyes open fully, adjusting to the kitchen lights slowly. Jungkook exhales a relieved breath as he turns back to you — well, where you had been standing a second ago. You'd already torn yourself from his grasp, and when he peers down, Jungkook finds his empty hands staring back at him as they clutch weakly at the air.
"Hi sweetie," your voice is coated in sugar and it makes his head whip in your direction. He finds you crouched in front of his son, the same hands that should've been resting on the back of his neck by now, instead cradling Cassian's small face. The corner of his lip tugs into a frown but he says nothing when approaching the two of you.
Cassian stifles a yawn as he glances around the kitchen. "I thought I heard something," he says, clearly disappointed that what he came down to find was not Santa. Their eyes meet and for a second Jungkook fears that his son might start asking question he has no answers to — thankfully you're faster.
"It was probably just the wind, old houses make noise sometimes," you tell him with a smile.
He accepts that with a sleepy nod, his gaze wandering back and forth between you and Jungkook once more as his brows furrow across his forehead. "What are you and daddy doing in the kitchen? It's night." He points an accusing finger to the window where the moon can be seen beyond the glass.
Taking another step forward, Jungkook closes the distance between you and his son. "We were just getting some water," he says, hoping that the simple explanation would be enough to put a lid on the child's curiosity.
"Hm…" Cassian hums, blinking slowly like it made perfect sense.
Not wanting to give his son room for further prying, Jungkook hauls him into his arms. "Alright, back to bed," he announces without leaving air for argument. Cassian's tiny body goes pliant in his embrace within seconds, his head becoming a warm and comforting weight where it lolls forward to rest on his shoulder.
You, too, rise to back to your full height, fingers reaching up to brush a strand of hair from the boy's face. The gesture was mindless and you probably thought nothing of it — but Jungkook's heart did. It squeezes hard in his chest and he has to pry his eyes away until your touch no longer lingers right under his nose.
"Goodnight sweetie," you say when taking a small step back, to which Cassian mumbles a tired response. It still makes your lips stretch into a grin and Jungkook hates himself for wishing that the affection had been directed at him and not his son.
He shoves the dangerous thoughts aside as he adjusts his grip on the small child. Then he gives you a quiet nod, not trusting himself to speak. His attention strays by the necklace around your neck before he turns to leave — the gold glinting softly under the kitchen lights where it rests against your skin, the taste of you a permanent mark on his tongue.
His parents' house is quiet when he makes his way up the stairs. He does not glance back to see if you've followed, but when the steps don't creak behind him, he figures that you hadn't.
"Daddy?"
Cassian's voice is a drowsy murmur against his chest, barely audible despite the reigning silence. "Yes?" Jungkook hums when he walks through the door his son had left ajar, heading toward the lower bunk where the younger slept.
It takes him a moment to respond and Jungkook uses the delay to tuck him in, arranging the duvet carefully over his smaller frame. Taking a seat on the edge of the bed, he waits his son out.
Rubbing his fist over his eyes, Cassian makes a sound that told Jungkook he was thinking intently about something. Finally his lips part, "Do you always hug nanny like that?"
The room drops ten degrees and suddenly he wishes that his son had been sleep walking after all. He shifts just enough for the mattress to groan and Jungkook almost does the same. At the very least, the kid had thought his father's busted attempt at a kiss to be nothing but a hug — which was more than he could've prayed for.
"Well you see…" he rubs a hand over the back of his neck, silently thanking the darkness of the bedroom for hiding the flush on his cheeks. "Grown-ups hug," shrugging, he tries to appear indifferent, "Just like how I hug your nana and papa."
"But papa and nana is your mommy and daddy," the boy quickly counters, "Nanny is just nanny."
"Right," Jungkook drags his palm down the line of his face, "Nanny is just nanny." He thinks of something else to say, something that will either bore the child or have him fall asleep in an instant. Unfortunately he's at his wits end and Cassian's eyes aren't growing any heavier as they await his response.
"Sometimes people need hugs, even if they're not family." The words are pulled out of him in a most unsure way but he deems the answer good enough.
His son frowns, "Is nanny sad?" Concern has crept its way onto his tired expression. Try as he might — and try he did — Jungkook could not for the life of him figure out what you had done to make the usually introverted and quiet boy so enamored with you.
"No," he shakes his head, "Nanny is fine." The last thing he needed was any talk of what his child had witnessed to be taking place at the breakfast table in the morning.
Silence settles over the bedroom both of his children share. In the distance the faint ticking of whatever nonsense-trinket-clock his mother had found at a flea market, can be heard. Jungkook remains seated on the edge of his son's mattress, making sure not to move a fin and disrupt the possibility of the latter falling into a deep slumber.
Minutes pass — how many? he has no idea. But the fact that his back was beginning to hurt from the hunched over position he sat in was telling enough. He listens for the faint hum of breaths, trying to gauge if the kid was any closer to sleep.
"Daddy…?"
Never mind, Jungkook sighs. He shifts enough to face him better, or as best as one could given the looming shadows of the night. "Yes?" he quires, hoping that whatever came next would be brief.
Cassian hesitates, had it been any lighter he might've caught the sight of him chewing up his bottom lip. Instead he is faced with quiet darkness — until his son finally speaks again. "Are you sad?"
The question has him glancing down at his lap, where his hands rest idly on top of his knees. He turns one of them, bending his thumb slightly. "No," his tone is certain, almost too sure of itself, he softens it before adding, "I'm fine."
When there's no response Jungkook turns fully toward the small boy. He leans forward, reaching the same hand up to brush the soft, slightly curly ends of his hair back. "I'm happy," it's not a lie, but he doesn't know if it's the full truth either.
Cassian tilts his head into his father's palm, "You are?"
Jungkook hums, then he bends down to press a gentle kiss to his son's forehead. "Of course, I have you and your sister," he murmurs against the soft skin of the boy's temple before pulling back a fraction.
"Okay," Cassian seems content with that as he snuggles a little deeper into the duvet. "Promise—" he's' interrupted by a yawn, "You tell me if you're sad." After a moment he says, "I'll make you feel better. We can hug."
Often times Jungkook found himself wondering what he might have done in a past life to deserve his own children. If he stopped to think about it for too long he knows that he will only deem himself unworthy of their unconditional love. So he doesn't. Instead he presses another chaste kiss to Cassian's forehead.
"I will," he promises, so quietly that it would have only been audible if you listened close. The moonlight bleeds onto the young boy's face, his dark lashes fluttering as his father's answer registers — then they grow heavy. Jungkook stays a moment longer, watching as Cassian's body sinks further into the matters.
His lips part, "I really thought Santa was in the kitchen," he sighs. Despite being upset over the missed opportunity to meet the white-bearded man, exhaustion was quickly winning out and a few seconds later, soft snores fill the space between them, signaling that he had passed out at last.
With a final brush to his son's forehead, then his cheek, Jungkook rises from the bed — nearly hitting his head on the top bunk where his daughter slept. Making sure to watch his step, he manages to exit the room without waking anyone, sliding the door shut behind him with a muted click.
The study he had offered to sleep in was far from comfortable. Jungkook thought that perhaps he had become somewhat picky when it came to having his bedding done. Still, he settles onto the tiny spare bed, grimacing at how the stiff mattress dug into his back before turning to his side. He's greeted with the sight of books. Books stacked on top of more books that crowd the old shelves.
Brows furrowing together, he studies the nonsensical order in which the titles were structured. His father had always been somewhat of a character. He'd probably lose track of his right arm if it hadn't been attached to his torso. So the chaos on his bookshelves should come as no surprise. It still makes Jungkook's fingers itch where they tap restlessly against the covers.
Forcing his eyes shut with a sharp inhale through his nose, he tries to think about anything else. The darkness behind his eyelids feel like a clean slate, no mess, no nothing. His sanctuary lasts for about ten seconds before images of you flood his vision. He tries to shake them at first, not that it ever worked.
Jungkook figures that there was no harm in imagining your face rather than the chaotic bookshelves in front of him, if only for a little while. So he lets it be his last thought before succumbing to sleep that night.
It had been three-hundred and sixty five days since the last time he spent Christmas at his parents house. It had been different back then, a year ago the holiday seemed bleak. The carols were too loud, the animated movies only a messy flicker of color in front of his tired eyes. He'd tried to smile for his children as they opened their gifts — it ended with his mother stepping in to do what he couldn't, as if to add onto the list of his failures.
His guilt consumed him during the weeks that followed. For a long time it was all Jungkook felt.
Christmas is different today as well, but he finds that he doesn't mind it. Rayne and Cassian are perched on the floor, the younger riffling through the mountain of presents excitedly as Jungkook and his parents watch from the couch. You sit beside them, there's still adequate space on the soft cushion next to him, but you had insisted on staying by the kids' side.
The sun had just broken the horizon and a few pale streaks of yellow managed to pierce through the windows, basking the three of you in their warm hues. Jungkook didn't have to force a smile on his lips today — that was nice.
"Hm…" Cassian scratches his chin thoughtfully, "This one." He reaches out to grab one of the neatly wrapped packages, turning it over in his hands as the struggles to read the card attached to it, probably thrown off by the cursive hand writing.
You lean forward, peering over his shoulder with a hum. "To Rayne from Nana and Papa," you nod when pointing to the card, letting him follow the tip of your finger as you read. When you're done you sit back to let him extend the gift to his sister who took it with careful hands.
The sound of paper ripping fills the living room and his mother shifts eagerly in her seat as she watches her grandchild open the first gift of the day. Rayne's fingers are gentle where they undo the red wrapping. Her eyes soften around the edges when they land on the contents inside.
"Thank you," she says when holding up the set of purple pajamas. The shirt has flowers sewn onto it, scattered across the sleeves and the chest piece — Jungkook recognizes the patterns as his mother's touch in an instant, similar to the stitches she would do whenever she mended his broken clothes when he was little.
"Now, I didn't make the entire thing because there wasn't enough time. But I thought the flowers could be a nice personal touch for—" his mother is cut off mid sentence as Rayne wraps her arms around her. Having already gotten up from her spot on the floor, she now clung to her grandmother tightly.
"Thank you, nana," she says, the words muffled against the woman's shoulder.
"Hey now," his father suddenly clears his throat, drawing attention toward himself, "I paid for it."
The corner of Rayne's lip twitches and she goes to hug him as well, letting her grandfather place a kiss to her forehead.
Jungkook watches the exchange quietly, his gaze drifting over to you without meaning for it to. But you're not looking at him, no, you sit entirely captivated by the sight of Rayne and her grandparents. The smile on your face reminds him of a time since long lost and the strange flutter in his chest doesn't help ease the situation.
Rayne reclaims her spot beside her brother on the floor and the present unwrapping continues. Jungkook is mostly oblivious to what is being said as he regards the scene with half-lidded eyes. Gifts are passed back and forth, Cassian receives a similar pajama set from his grandparents, the dinosaur Jungkook had seen you pick out at the store.
The majority of things from the humongous pile were all Jungkook's doing. Rayne especially was hard to decide on appropriate presents for, so he'd tried to compensate by getting them a large spread instead.
"Thank you, daddy!" His son crashes into his arms, the box of shiny toy cars that he still cradles gets squished between them, but he doesn't mind. Placing a kiss on the crown of his head, he then leans back as Cassian returns to shuffle through the steadily shrinking mountain.
Rayne gets a book from her grandfather — the palette of makeup that Jungkook has little knowledge on from you. He recalls the hot and stuffy air of the mall as you dragged him up and down the aisles, discussing different brands that seemed indifferent to him. Though his daughter pauses when the gift registers.
Her brows furrow before softening again, finger tracing the edge of the plastic cover as she reads the name under her breath. Then she turns to you, who'd been watching her whilst chewing on your nail — a nervous habit of yours Jungkook had realized.
"I wasn't sure about the colors— So if you want another palette we can go and have it changed but I thought that you might like your own since—"
"Thank you." Rayne interrupts you halfway through your ramble, dark eyes meeting yours as she smiles, an awkward but sincere smile that Jungkook rarely saw. "The colors are perfect," she then adds, her attention lingering by the purple shade, "I love it."
You breathe out a sigh of relief, nodding as your posture relaxes again. The moment is short-lived, mostly because her brother was far too eager to continue. He'd already grabbed another, rectangular shaped present and was now reading the card to the best of his abilities.
Rayne leans in to help out, her face going through a handful of expressions before she turns to you. "It's for you," she announces as she turns back to where you had just gotten comfortable again, "From father."
Jungkook blinks, immediately pulled from his thoughts as his attention snaps toward the gift his son was now handing you with a beaming grin. He recognizes the wrapping in an instant, the one he had spent a ridiculous amount of time choosing only to settle on a dark green with red dots.
You accept it with a tiny frown, surprised almost, at least so he thinks. He doesn't know why he feels nervous all of a sudden and he hopes no one notices the way he shifts in his seat, hands locking together across his lap as he bites his cheek. It shouldn't be any different from last night, except today he has an audience.
Your fingers linger on the card he'd written, was it not enough? Should he have said something else — maybe he should say something right now?
The paper rips before he can and Jungkook exhales through his nose as he watches you open the present he'd gotten for you. It takes less than a minute but it's enough time for him to rethink the entire thing and he can feel sweat beading on his forehead.
You, however, have not looked up from the box in your lap and when the wrapping comes off your brows shoot high on your forehead. A soft breath escapes you, then a small chuckle and his heart does a weird little skip against his ribcage.
"How did you know?" You ask when opening the cardboard lid.
The corner of his lip twitches and he shrugs, "A hunch." It was admittedly more than a hunch, not that he would ever confess to that — the grin you wear is well enough to have his head spin.
"Well go on, show us!" His mother squeals on her end of the couch, leaning forward for enough for Jaejoon to place a hand on her shoulder to prevent an unnecessary fall.
Doing as she says, you hold up the box to display the shoes inside. Sneakers, not anything extravagant — unless you peeked at the price tag, though Jungkook had been smart enough to remove that.
Your worn out excuse of footwear had bothered him since your first day, even when he'd refrained from making any comments on their state. With the current weather that itch had become almost impossible not to scratch, and your displeased grimace whenever snow managed to wet your socks was enough to have him make up his mind. He'd taken the liberty of checking for your size when arriving back home last week, taking a mental note of the color and going with something similar for these.
"Thank you," you say, and he can tell you mean it. For a second it looks as though you might just get up and hug him like the children had done. He tries not to appear disappointed when all you give is a smile. "Seriously, these are great," your gaze stays with him a moment longer, making him nod slowly.
"You needed a new pair," he says, his voice a lot hoarser than he'd like for it to be. His parents seem to approve of the message as well, though not more than his son who was taking a very close look for himself.
Cassian points excitedly to the window, "We can play outside and you can wear them later!"
You agree to his suggestion enthusiastically and Jungkook allows himself to relax back against the couch with a sigh. His eyes wander toward the snow outside, the idea of spending time getting cold and wet does make his nose scrunch, but he keeps quiet as he watches the slowly rising sun. In fact he was so focused on it that he nearly missed the way you leaned forward to whisper into the young boy's ear, pointing subtly toward one of the presents under the tree.
Without further questioning, Cassian turns to grab it and with your help he reads the card easily. "To Jungkook, from nanny," and as if it weren't obvious enough, he holds it out toward his father, "It's for you daddy!"
Jungkook blinks dumbfoundedly as he stares down at the present held out before him. He couldn't remember the last time he'd gotten a present for Christmas, no less one wrapped in shiny red with a green bow on top.
It's light in his palms and he glances over to find you with your arms hugging your legs, bottom lip bit in anticipation. Clearing his throat, he turns back to carefully undo the neat bow. He tries not to picture your own hands instead of his as he peels the wrapper apart, tries not to think about how you might have looked when you sat down to prepare this gift for him.
The living room is awfully quiet, save for the rustle of paper as he finally strips the box bare. He barely glances at the brand name, it didn't matter where it was purchased, as long as it was from you. Pausing for a second, his gaze flickers up to meet yours one last time before removing the lid.
Inside is a tie. Not like the ones he'd usually wear, the sleek black and navy ones that blended in with the rest of his wardrobe. No, this one is a deep red, it reminds him of a rich wine. He runs the pads of his fingers across the smooth fabric, the texture feels no different from the ones he already owns, this one might even be softer.
"I figured you could use a little more color," you say and Jungkook looks over to see you smiling.
The corner of his mouth curves upward as he takes in the sight of the tie once more. He imagines when he could wear it — proudly to the office — or perhaps only for you. Any other day he might've tried to pry those thoughts from his mind, tell himself that there was no point in dwelling on things he knows he shouldn't want. But right now, he lets himself think of what it would be like to take you to dinner, to spend time with you outside of his house, out in the real world.
"I definitely could," he muses as he traps the fabric between two fingers, "Thank you."
Sometimes Jungkook finds himself wanting to kiss you for no apparent reason all. This is one of those times. He wishes his family was elsewhere, despite the sacred holiday and the presents that have yet to be opened, he wishes to be with you and only you.
The fantasy is quickly interrupted by his father who leans closer to take a look for himself. "This one will suit you nicely, son," he says, turning to you with a pleasant grin, "You have good taste, dear."
The flustered giggle you emit makes his heart thunder in his chest, not quite the same way it had on your couch almost a week ago, it's fiercer now. "I'm glad," you hum when placing your chin on one knee. Jungkook feels your attention on him, it makes him warm, a nice kind of warm that he clings onto even as the conversation shifts and Cassian goes back to giving out more gifts.
The next fifteen minutes or so are spent with the children opening the rest of their presents — his parents opening their own which he had gotten them. An electrical whisk for his mother, something she had insisted on not needing though he didn't see why not since she spent more time baking than anything. A chess board for his father, under the guise of them playing together in the future, which the man seemed very eager about. Jungkook often found that it was easier to express himself through materialistic resources — words never came out right for him anyway.
Soon there was only one lonesome package left under the tree. The shape makes him frown, it wasn't soft, nor was it square or rectangular. Rayne picks it up, having taken over the role of reading the cards out loud rather than having her younger sibling struggle.
She turns the lumpy present in her hands, its wrapping was different from all the others, a pale blue with reindeer on. Her eyes widen for a fraction of a second before she gets her expression under control again and clears her throat. "To Cassian, from… Santa."
Her brother's head whips in her direction at that and for a little while he sits completely frozen on the floor. Then he's scrambling over to his sister, practically tearing the gift from her hands as he checks the card for himself. "Santa?!" He sounds disbelieving as he scans the room, like he was expecting the man himself to walk in at any given moment.
"Well go on, open it," Rayne urges, clearly invested too, even if she tried not to show it. Cassian wastes no time in getting to work, tearing the paper with less care than he had previously.
Jungkook frowns as he leans forward to rest his elbows on his knees. He runs through his own list in his head, but he couldn't for the life of him remember using that wrapper — and he certainly wouldn't have wrapped it like that. When glancing toward his mother and father, he finds them looking just as confused yet intrigued as himself.
It's not until he looks over at you and sees the grin you're fighting off that it clicks.
Cassian's ear piercing shriek pulls him back toward his son who'd already finished breaking through the paper that now lay scattered around him. "I told you! I told you!" he says as he holds up the box of rainbow colored crayons to his sister, "I knew Santa would read my list!"
"What are those?" Jaejoon inquires as he squints behind his glasses.
"Rainbow crayons!" The boy says, stumbling to his feet as he plops down in his grandfather's lap. "Look! Only Santa can make these, that's why I put them on my list."
Ye-seo leans forward as she, too, studies the crayons closely, her face lighting up into a grin that matches her grandson's. "Why, you must have been a really good boy this year for Santa to give you something so special," she says as she pinches one of his cheeks lovingly.
Jungkook regards them for a moment longer as he tries to piece together where you had managed to get that. Then he remembers the run-in with that Namjoon at the store. He'd just come back after acquiring the gifts he intended to give you, already tired and sick of the crowded mall to find another man chatting with you like one would an old friend.
The encounter had left a bitter taste in his mouth which he tried to rationalize over and over on his way home to little avail. He thinks he might vaguely remember you holding a colorful box of something, though he'd been too caught up on the stranger in front of him to pay it any mind.
When he turns to where you sit on the floor you meet his gaze, your head tilted to the side and a knowing look on your face. He mouths a quiet 'thank you' under his breath to which you nod.
The air inside the living room feels warmer after that and Jungkook's chest feels warmer than it had in a long time.
Tradition on Christmas Day includes an endless marathon of animated movies that Jungkook couldn't care less for. The dialogue and soundtracks were imprinted into his head by now and sometimes he found himself begrudgingly muttering them in real time as whatever film on-screen played.
The kids' channel offered a variety throughout the entire morning and afternoon. It was one of the rare times in which he'd let the children spend time in front of the TV and if they had it their way, it would be a good couple of hours.
Lady and the Tramp had already started by the time Jaejoon got the remote control in his hand and Cassian had bounced up on the couch, claiming what little space remained on the cushion alongside his sister. The sofa wasn't spacious per se, it allowed for a family of four — five if two of them were small enough to be counted as a half. That left you, still sitting on the floor as everyone else huddled up on the soft cushions.
"Dear, come up here and join us," his mother says as she beckons you over, clearly not having thought over how that was supposed to work.
You glance up, brows scrunching together as your gaze trails over the already crammed couch. "Oh— I'm fine here," you say, flashing Ye-Seo a small smile.
"You can sit here," Jungkook barely registers the fact that he's on his feet, towering over everyone in the room as he gestures awkwardly to the spot he'd just been occupying.
It doesn't fully sink in until he realizes that everyone had gone painfully quiet — even the movie playing on the TV had faded into background noise. He clears his throat, refusing to back down as he steps aside to offer up his seat for you.
You blink, eyes darting between him and the available spot on the sofa. "No—" shaking your head, "It's alright I can see well from here."
"I insist."
He knows that he's pressing the matter more than what could be considered appropriate in front of his parents and children, but he can't come to terms with you sitting on the floor while he lounged on the comfortable piece of furniture.
Jaejoon finally shifts slightly, "Alright," he says as he hauls Cassian up into his arms, easily maneuvering the boy to sit on his wife's lap. "You too kid, come here," he pats his thigh for Rayne who raises a brow but shuffles over without protest.
Jungkook watches the entire scene with his lips pressed into a firm line as his father easily solves the problem for him in a much simpler and more dignified manner. He glances to the extra space on the sofa, his mouth running dry as you murmur out a shy 'thanks' and slide onto the cushion, fitting in easily next to his family.
He waits a second before joining you, careful not to brush up too close, which was nearly impossible. His thigh ends up pressed against yours, the warmth of your body radiating through the layers of clothes, straight into his own.
"I love the girl dog," Cassian says as he points to the TV, content to be in his grandmother's gentle embrace.
Rayne scoffs, "Her name is Lady, not the girl dog."
"Lady doesn't sound like a real name," her brother retorts with a scrunch of his nose.
His sister looks ready to argue but Jaejoon diffuses the tension with a pat to her arm. "Such an insignificant detail to get hung up on, let us just enjoy the movie, hm?" he says in a cheerful voice. It does make the two of them settle down again and the topic shifts to the cruel Siamese cats instead.
Jungkook is hardly paying them any mind. He's far too preoccupied noticing each part of you that connects to him. Your joint hips, the way his knee occasionally bumps against yours when he tries to get comfortable — always to no avail. His hands are clasped together on his lap, thumbs twiddling restlessly with one another.
The movie is lost on him and he doesn't try to tune in. You are though, eyes moving in tune with the different scenes that play out, humming along softly to whatever song was playing. It makes him frown. Jungkook wants you to look at him, doesn't have any idea why, he just does.
One of his palms move across his thigh, the edge of his hand resting just a breath from yours. Everyone is preoccupied, there's no harm in letting his pinky brush against the expanse of your leg, he thinks.
The touch is light, a barely-there caress of his finger but you still tense up beside him, your gaze meeting his without turning your head. For a very short moment he believes that you might swat him away, perhaps read his innocent attempt at contact wrong and think him perverted.
But you simply turn back to the film, forcing Jungkook to swallow down the disappointment building in his throat. He shifts his attention to the animation on screen, it fails to immerse him, not when you sit just beside him — and he doesn't move his hand.
It's somewhere between the Tramp and the Lady's first meeting that he feels the subtle brush of skin against his own. His shoulders stiffen and upon glancing down, he sees your pinky resting against his own. You're still not looking at him, but the corner of your lip twitches and he knows it has nothing to do with the movie.
Lady and the Tramp wrapped up a while ago and a new movie which he did not know the name of had began playing, though Cassian and Rayne were now more invested in their presents than anything. His parents had made their way to the kitchen in order to prepare the large breakfast you were to have. Jungkook joined them, he figured he would be of more use out there anyway.
His mother was already fussing over being behind schedule, even as his father tries to reason with her by saying that it was not yet ten in the morning.
"Oh for goodness sake, don't just stand there — go on, set the table!" Ye-seo ushers her husband through the doorway, his hands filled with plates and glasses.
Jungkook for his part, remains silent as he slices two oranges to go along as sides. The knife wasn't as sharpened as he'd like but he made no comment on it to his mother who was now frantically stirring porridge on the stove. "Will you pass me the ginger, sweetie?" she asks without glancing up.
Knowing better than to make her wait, Jungkook abandons the fruits he'd been cutting with a nod. The pantry was a complete mess compared to the comforts of his own home and it takes him a good minute to find it as he scours the shelves. "Top left," she calls out when he took too long.
Finally spotting the small jar, he grabs it and heads over. His mother hums out a 'thank you' as she adds a generous amount into the pot. In the distance, the echoes of Cassian's giggles can be heard, the sound is soon followed by the familiar tune of your own laughter. Without thinking, Jungkook turns his head toward the source, trying to catch a glimpse of you in the living room.
The knife lies loose in his grip now, passively resting there as he listens to your muffled conversation in the distance. His heart does this weird leap in his chest and he tries to brush it off as quickly as it had came.
"She's quite lovely."
His mother's hummed comment makes Jungkook pause and he nearly gives himself whiplash when turning to back to the cutting board where the forgotten oranges lay. "Hm?" he tries to feign nonchalance as he angles the blade once more.
"Your nanny," she continues as she stirs the porridge, "She takes good care of Cassian and Rayne."
Jaejoon had chosen that exact moment to return, instantly tuning in to the topic as he walks up beside his wife. "She does," he agrees when placing a hand on Ye-Seo's waist, "Got her life figured out too. That's some impressive work ethic at her age, not to mention that she studies full time."
Jungkook nods, his gaze trained to the orange he slices thinly. He takes comfort in the repeated motion as he guides the knife slowly, the thud of it hitting the wooden board ringing loud in his ears. Suddenly, his mother speaks up:
"Is she not a bit too young for you?"
The sudden inquiry makes him freeze, fingers curling tighter around the knife's handle. "What?" His response comes out short and colder than he'd like but he cannot help the frown that etches its way onto his face, nor the way his jaw clenches when she continues without missing a beat.
"I mean—" she shrugs, "She's a lovely girl there's no doubt about that. But she's only twenty."
His next swallow goes down his throat thickly, he's sure they notice. "I think what your mother is trying to say," his father interjects as he shifts uncomfortably next to Ye-Seo, "Is that there are complications when it comes to certain… age differences."
The words bring out a bitter taste in Jungkook's mouth and he has to bite his tongue to keep himself from saying something he would end up regretting. He scoffs, grabbing another orange even when he'd already cut plenty as he forces the blade through it with more force than necessary. It was insulting of them to think that the matter hadn't kept him up for weeks now. That he hadn't even taken your age into consideration when it had in fact been on his mind for far too long.
"I assure you there is nothing to worry about," he grinds out, "Our relationship is nothing of the sort." The lie comes easily but he makes a point of not looking up from the cutting board — he knows that his mother will see right through him if he does — part of him fears that she already has.
In the living room the TV is still going, a dramatized sound effect from whatever movie you and the children were watching fills the dense air between him and his parents. Jungkook wills his gaze to remain on the task in front of him, even when it longs to find you.
Ye-Seo huffs under her breath, "You take your own mother for a fool?" She means to come across as scolding but her tone is far too soft for it to ever be. Giving the porridge another stir, she turns to face him fully — his father had gone quiet next to her.
Jungkook can feel her eyes on him though he makes no move to meet them as he mindlessly cuts away at the orange in uneven slices.
"You may have your own kids now, but you are still my son." She inhales a quiet breath, "I haven't seen you look at anyone like that since— since…"
There's no need for her to finish her sentence. He knows who she speaks of and it makes his lips twist into a grimace. Yet, the longer he lets the thought sit with him, the more dangerous it becomes. Jungkook hadn't allowed himself closeness for a long time, for his sake and for the children. You were never meant to be any different.
And Jungkook knows that he's being selfish. He knows that each time he kisses you he lures you deeper into a false reality that he for some reason allows himself to cling to. What he doesn't like is that his mother knows this too.
"I don't know what you're talking about." It's a pathetic excuse that shames him to the core but he utters it anyway — hoping to bury the entire conversation.
Ye-Seo stops stirring the porridge entirely, her expression growing almost solemn as she says, "I just want for you to be happy." But could she not see that was trying? That he had been trying for so long now — wasn't that enough?
"I'm worried about you," she then adds, "After everything that happened with Yelena, I—"
The knife makes a deafening sound against the tiled counter top when Jungkook slams it down, startling his mother into aborting whatever she was about to say next. He turns to his parents with his chest tied up into knots, teeth grinding against each other with an intensity that borders on painful.
"Son…" His father finally speaks in a low, cautious voice, like one would a frightened animal. He's got a hand on his wife's hip, the other on her shoulder as he hugs her close. The pity on his face makes everything worse — so does the weak attempt at comfort that he tries to provide.
"Don't," Jungkook spits, moving to wipe his hands on a nearby towel, "I don't need to hear it." He bunches the fabric up between clenched fists in an attempt to channel his emotions onto the unsuspecting rag.
His mother untangles herself from her husband's embrace, taking a couple of steps in his direction. "Sweetie," her fingers caress his tense forearm, "Your father and I only mean well. What happened between you it's…" She trails off, hesitation flickering across her features before she says, "It's still affecting you."
Jungkook knows she's right, knows they both want what's best for him. That's what stings the most. He was tired of being pitied. The month that followed at work had been torture enough. The lingering glances from his employees. The apologetic smiles and the condolences. His parents had undoubtedly been the worst — not that he ever told them. It was enough that he was hurting, he hadn't needed his mother and father's feelings on his conscience.
"I'm fine," he turns his head in the direction of the living room as the sound of approaching footsteps reaches his ears. "Don't bring her up again," he tells them both as Cassian comes barreling through the doorway with you and Rayne in tow.
Both his parents fall silent at that and Jungkook turns his back on them as his son comes up to show what he had drawn with his new rainbow crayons. "Daddy! Daddy! Look what I made!" Discarding the towel on the counter, he crouches down to come eye-level with the boy and as Cassian eagerly points to different parts of the painting, Jungkook glances up to peer at you subtly.
You're smiling from ear to ear, oblivious to the conversation that had taken place in your absence. The necklace he'd given you last night sits prettily around your neck, its golden hues shimmering softly under the kitchen lights — a constant reminder of his affections, the ones he cannot bring himself say out loud — he hates himself for his own incapability.
The uncomfortable twist of guilt in his chest returns as he regards the serene expression you wear. His parents had been right, he thinks.
Jungkook was taking more than he could offer in return — a selfish man he was.
── [ ✉️ ] Okay... Peeking out from behind my hands very nervously right now. Hopefully the quality wasn't horrible, it was even harder to write this from Jungkook's POV which I did not expect so I honestly don't know how to feel. Hopefully it is okay?
➾ summary: jeon jeongguk has annoying little brother energy™. you know this deep in your bones. wedding after wedding, you keep running into him at the goddamn singles’ table, and he just won’t leave you alone. until you start to wonder… is he your ticket out of the lonely hearts club?
tdlr: enemies to lovers
➾ warnings: hate sex, public sex (in a photobooth lmao), impregnation role play, oral (f receiving), jk has intensely annoying energy, it gets unbearably cheesy towards the end
➾ a/n: wow, addie is back???? finally??? gosh, even I can’t believe it. please enjoy, and thank you for waiting :)
➾ summary: jeon jeongguk has annoying little brother energy™. you know this deep in your bones. wedding after wedding, you keep running into him at the goddamn singles’ table, and he just won’t leave you alone. until you start to wonder… is he your ticket out of the lonely hearts club?
tdlr: enemies to lovers
➾ warnings: hate sex, public sex (in a photobooth lmao), impregnation role play, oral (f receiving), jk has intensely annoying energy, it gets unbearably cheesy towards the end
➾ a/n: wow, addie is back???? finally??? gosh, even I can’t believe it. please enjoy, and thank you for waiting :)
